


A Thousand Tiny Wishes

by teddysheeranfics



Category: Ed Sheeran (Musician)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Romance, Substance Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2613773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddysheeranfics/pseuds/teddysheeranfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Madison are polar opposites.  Madison is a straight A student who's never smoked a cigarette or skipped class, while Ed can't be bothered to attend school half the time.  Through words of encouragement and a hint of bad influence, he takes her places she'd never go on her own, while she finds herself helping him through his own bottled up demons and lack of self-confidence.  Ed struggles to find happiness and love and with a little bit of hope and a handful of wishes, he might actually have what it takes to find success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin

Her POV:

At sixteen years old, I thought I had everything I needed to lead a successful life, and while that may have been true, I hadn’t realized that I was living by my parents expectations and not my own, doing my best to please them one perfect grade at a time. I didn’t know the first thing about love or what it felt like to kiss a cute boy, or even hold his hand. I was too busy focusing on school to ever bother, and even though I had showed an interest in a select few, none of them ever reciprocated. The only attention I seemed to draw to myself from the opposite sex was when one of them needed to borrow a pen or pencil in class. 

But then there was Ed.  
He came into my life like a breath of fresh air, falling like an autumn leaf at my feet. Quite literally actually, since he’d tripped and landed flat on his hands and knees, spilling his schoolbooks across the concrete when his palms broke his fall.

The first thing I noticed was his wild orange hair, shaggy and sticking out at odd angles when he landed flat with a huff. I clutched his elbow when he scrambled to his feet, muttering a ‘sorry’ and a ‘thanks’ in the same sentence while he picked the pebbles from his palms.

It was no secret that he was embarrassed, but I found the blush rising to both his cheeks as he spoke inconceivably adorable, the hormones in my sixteen year old body hardly able to contain themselves at his innocence.

And then I saw his blue eyes staring back at me, shooting through me like a five below wind chill. Although I wanted what all the popular girls had in terms of male attention, I knew it couldn’t be as simple as a ball of copper-haired testosterone plummeting to the ground. 

Regardless of my brain and my heart fighting their own separate wars at the sight of him, I knew from that very moment, things wouldn’t be the same.

I’d seen him around school a few times, but never had the courage to introduce myself, and even if I did I wouldn’t know the right words to say. Do you greet a potential mate with a ‘hello’ or a more casual ‘hi’? I was too afraid of rejection that I just fantasized saying hello from afar, imagining myself walking up to him and the two of us forming an instant bond, but of course, that’s not how things go.

Here I was, an honor roll student with more extracurricular activities than a valedictorian could ever dream of, attracted to the red-haired freckled face boy who couldn’t care any less about it all, finding it far more intriguing to skip class and vandalize property than to waste the day sat at a desk, listening to adults who thought they were better than us.

He escaped me that day he fell and skinned his knees, gathering his fallen books at his hip before giving me a gentle wave and a smirk, leaving the school grounds as I was going in. I went through the day keeping him in the back of my mind and rehearsing over and over what I’d say when I saw him again. 

The next day, I spotted the top of his orange hair in the hallway, seeing it move as if he’d fallen again, and I had to double-take, knowing there wasn’t any way one person could be that clumsy. But he hadn’t fallen, instead, he was shoved by another boy almost twice his size. I didn’t like what I witnessed, watching Ed fall back against the metal lockers in a huff when he was shoved by his chest, knocking the back of his head against the cold hard frame. 

Somewhere between being shy and wanting to be friends with this newfound boy, I worked up the courage to approach the asshole shoving him, for no apparent reason it seemed, catching his attention when I hurried over.

“Hey,” I called out, feeling tougher than I actually was, and certainly than I looked.

The kid had Ed’s shirt balled in his fist, both of their gazes meeting mine once I took a few steps closer. The asshole, whose name I recalled as Nick suddenly let go with a laugh, walking away before I could interfere any further. Ed smoothed down his shirt just as I approached and suddenly every conversation I had with myself in the bathroom mirror evaporated into thin air.

“Thanks,” he started, a small smile playing at his lips, “hey you’re the same girl from yesterday, aren’t you?”

His smile stretched a little wider, his eyes sparkling the slightest bit more as I mentally shouted at myself to do something, or say anything at all, a grunt even, but nothing came out of my mouth. I just stared like a deer caught in headlights.

Ed’s blonde eyebrows pulled up as he nodded at the awkward silence spilling off me like a pungent odor.

“Right,” he said, “well, thanks, again. I’ll see you around.”

And then he was gone again, walking away from me until he was out of earshot, before I could regurgitate the conversation I rehearsed with myself the night before. 

Nearly a week later I grew a pair of balls and took the initiative to approach him when I spotted him at his locker, fumbling to pull it open. He consumed almost every thought I had during that week, making it impossible for me to focus on anything but his child-like grin every time I closed my eyes. I guess then I knew what it felt like to have an actual crush.

“Hi,” I spoke, clearing my throat directly after, Ed turning his head when he heard me.

He smiled warmly, seeming to actually be happy that I’d found him, “hey,”

I didn’t let myself choke this time, deciding to say fuck it and speak up, introduce myself and maybe form a friendship with the boy who wouldn’t leave my thoughts.

“I’m Madison,”

He slammed his locker closed, tucking the book he pulled from it at his left hip, “I’m Ed.”

“Sorry about the thing last week, I kind of didn’t realize what I was getting myself into interrupting Nick from one of his kills,”

My heart skipped a beat when he laughed. 

“Thanks for that, by the way, although I could probably take him.”

We both knew he couldn’t, and he smirked when I smiled. 

“Hey,” he trailed, looking down at me through nearly invisible eyelashes, “wanna get out of here with me?”

And there it was. The one reason I needed to not get involved. But I couldn’t turn away. He was like the car wreck on the freeway you couldn’t take your eyes off of, and although I hadn’t known him long enough to elicit a ‘yes’ from my mouth, I did anyway.

An actual giggle escaped my mouth when he took me by the hand, pulling me beside him out a side entrance of the school.

“The alarm’s been broken on that door for about six months,” he said once we slipped out into the brisk air, his hand still intertwined with mine.

Ed pulled me until we were hidden beside the brick wall, peeking out and around until he saw there weren’t any teachers or other staff around.

“Run!” he told me, tugging at my hand to encourage me to follow his lead, and I did.

We ran across the parking lot hand-in-hand, my heart pounding from the excitement and the feel of his palm in mine, our feet pounding the pavement as we went.

I felt on top of the world then, running beside Ed, the wind whipping our faces. The term polar opposites never seemed more appealing to me then, noting how second nature it seemed to Ed to just skip out of school early, while I was mentally preparing myself for a mediocre life and a minimum wage job the second my feet hit the pavement outside school when they weren’t supposed to be.

But I admired that most about Ed. He quickly became my outlet for adventure, encouraging me to stop and smell the roses rather than following everyone else while they stampeded through them. That day he took my hand in his and asked me to live a little, we spent the afternoon wandering around, getting to know each other, landing at a nearby park atop a grassy hill, sat next to each other as if we’d been friends for years.

It suddenly hit me that Ed gave off that aura of knowing him even when you hadn’t met him yet, his boyish charm rubbing off on me faster than the ink of a leaking pen. 

“So what’s his deal with you?” I asked him as we sat against that lush green hill, my knees pulled up comfortably to my chest, arms slung around them.

“Nick?” Ed replied, his eyebrows angling in question and I nodded, “he’s just bored.”

He shook his head and let out the smallest laugh, sitting cross-legged beside me. I couldn’t decide if the way he brushed off being bullied was genuine, or if he was in fact bothered by it. I knew anyone else probably would be, especially me, but Ed had this carefree quality he was sort of rubbing off on me. 

In a split second decision, he leaned forward, peeking down the hill as if he were trying to measure it, and with a small wave and cheeky grin, he pushed off, rolling down in a blur of orange. I lunged forward to try and stop him, seeing how steep the hill was, but off he went, tumbling down through screams and bouts of laughter. I stood and watched him, my palms flat against my cheeks in a worried mother type fashion when he slowed to a stop, landing on his back with his knees bent.

“Are you okay?” I shouted, “You’re insane!”

He laughed then, clutching his stomach as he pushed dizzily to his feet, stumbling.

“Come on! Your turn!” he called, and I wildly shook my head. 

His hands ruffled his messy hair, shaking it like a Labrador and I felt that flutter of butterflies in my stomach.

“Come on, Mad, just do it!”

Mad. I smiled at the sound of him calling me by the nickname only the closest people to me did. I peeked down the hill, the first part of it being a near ninety degree angle, wondering how on earth he hadn’t broken any bones. 

He started running in place at the bottom of the hill, his voice muffled by the open space between us, trying his hardest to persuade me. I laughed at the way he jogged, his knees lifting high and the orange mop on his head flopping. God damnit.

“Fine!” I shouted, slowly kneeling against the grass and he cheered, throwing his hands up over his head as if he’d witnessed a football goal, “But if I break anything you’re paying my hospital bills!” 

An ear piercing scream left me as I slammed my eyes shut, lying flat when I launched from the top. A little bit of me hated him then, but most of me craved him even more. Through screams of absolute fear and adrenaline, I heard him laughing, fully enjoying me tumbling to what felt to be my early demise. In his defense, it wasn’t incredibly horrible, but I could do without bits of dirt and grass in my mouth and feeling as if the spinning would never end.

I landed hard against his shins since he didn’t move in time and he fell flat on his ass with a hard thud and an ‘oomph’.

My first reaction was to laugh after all was said and done, trying to catch my breath through my sandpaper throat, a hand flat against my chest to still my heartbeat.

“See?” he asked me, suddenly appearing stood above me, staring down at me through his blonde eyelashes. His head blocked the sun, creating a soft glow around his hair while I looked up through a squint, reaching out his hand to help me to my feet, “Wanna go again?”

And we did. We rolled down that hill until we both couldn’t stand up straight, sitting at the bottom closer than we had been when we first got to the park.

"This was fun," I smiled, picking at my fingers in my lap.

Ed leaned back with his palms against the grass, resting his head lazily beside his shoulder, smiling right back at me.

"It was," he said, "I haven’t laughed like that in a really long time."


	2. Let Me In

Her POV:

I wish I could sit down with Ed and pick his brain, find out each and every one of his fears and erase them one by one. He doesn’t ever open up and I don’t understand what’s so wrong with me that he can’t. He puts up a wall every time I try and get to know him and I don’t think he realizes how bad it makes me feel that he doesn’t trust me enough to let me help.

I see it in him that there’s something wrong. Maybe it’s the way he lowers his eyes when he talks to me, or how he always puts himself down, saying he’s not good enough for me. I notice it more than I think he realizes I do.

Ed hasn’t been doing so well in school, he hardly shows up and when he does he leaves early, and it kills me to see him just not care. I know he has the potential to be someone other than a dropout, but he tells me that he doesn’t want or need an education for what he has planned. I want to support him and I want to be there for him when he needs a shoulder, but it’s so incredibly frustrating when he pushes away.   
One day during school, a month or two after we met, he asked me to come with him to the park we usually went to. It’d been a while since I’d gone with him, since I was too afraid to let my grades slip or get in trouble for skipping.

“Come on,” he pleaded, tilting his head and resting it against his shoulder, trying his hardest to persuade me into coming with him. He even chewed his bottom lip to try and be cute, “just this once,” he said.

I was torn between going with him or staying at school, and although I had an important class, I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity for him to finally tell me what’s been bothering him.

“Fine,” I said, almost rolling my eyes, “but this is the last time, Ed.”

It was the second time that week he’d skipped out early, but of course it wasn’t a huge deal for him. He was pulled into the school’s main office at least once a week, and I knew he had notices sent home and the like, but he still did it. I wished for a minute I could be like him.

We sat in the same spot we always did when we went to the park, at the top of the hill. I smiled when he sat a little closer to me than he normally did, our knees almost brushing. 

“Ed,” I started, catching his attention while he rummaged through his backpack, “are you going to tell me the real reason why you’re always skipping class?”

He laughed and pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil, resting a hardcover book against his lap and the paper on top. For a second I thought he was going to start doing homework and my heart almost stopped.

“There isn’t any real reason,” he shrugged, “I just don’t see the point in it.”

He kept his eyes on the paper, starting to draw.

I knew he wanted to be a musician, he told me once that the only class in school he took seriously was music, but he was convinced that he didn’t need an education to become one. My eyes trailed to the paper where I noticed he was drawing a portrait of me, and once he finished we both got a good laugh since it hardly resembled me. Even so, I sat with it in my lap, smiling when I told him I would never get rid of it.

His cheeks flushed a shade brighter than his orange hair when I brushed my hand against his leg, glancing up at me as he said that all he needed to be happy was to see me smile. 

He walked me home that day, like he normally did, but before I went inside he hugged me a little tighter than usual, pulling away just enough to keep our faces within inches of each other. I knew it was coming and felt the butterflies swarming again, heat rushing to my cheeks when he leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. 

Suddenly the feel of his lips pressed to mine was the only thought in my mind. I forgot about how angry he made me by shutting me out, I put aside all the times he talked me into skipping out of school early. The second he kissed me, I realized just how much I loved him.

He knew so much about me from our many conversations together. He knew I had parents who loved me but pushed me to become something I didn’t want to be. They were both doctors and wanted me to follow in their footsteps, but it wasn’t what I wanted to do. Ed told me once that I should do what makes me happy because my happiness was most important. I wish I’d listened to him.

Ed knew that I loved the air in autumn and the way the leaves changed, and that we both had the same favorite pair of shoes; black Chucks, faded and worn and dirty around the edges. He knew that my grandmother died when I was five, and that I didn’t have any pets or a favorite color; I loved them all the same.

Out of all these things he knew about me, I couldn’t think of one personal thing I knew about Ed, except that he wanted to be a musician.

We had our first fight two months after he kissed me. I was doing my homework sat cross-legged on my bed, trying to get Ed to do his while he rummaged through my CD’s, but of course he couldn’t be bothered. I rolled my eyes when his face lit up at the sight of Britney Spears’ Greatest Hits, holding it up and grinning ear-to-ear.

I finished my homework and he joined me on my bed, lying beside me with his knees bent. His hands were folded over his ribs while he stared up at the ceiling.

“Tell me one thing I don’t know about you,” I said, knowing that this time I wouldn’t let him change the subject.

He sighed then, probably knowing I was fed up with him and his secrets and the barriers he built between us. 

“I’d rather save it for a rainy day,” he sighed.

“No,” I said, catching him off-guard, “I can’t keep pretending that this is okay, Ed. I know something is wrong, but you won’t tell me what it is. Do you know how much it kills me to see you upset and have no idea why?”

He pushed up on his elbows, “who said I was upset? Everything’s fine, Mad.”

I shook my head, sitting up beside him, “no it’s not. I don’t know the first thing about you! We’ve been together for almost three months and I’ve never even seen your house. Ed,” I continued, trying to be careful with my words “I love you, but I feel so far away from you. Why are you so afraid of letting me know you?”

He sat up fully then, and I could see it in his eyes that he wanted to tell me the things he was too afraid to say.

“I just don’t know how to tell you,” he said, his vibrant blue eyes trailing down to his lap where he began picking at his fingers.

I kept quiet for a pause, letting him take the initiative, wanting so badly for him to just say whatever was on his mind so I could help him through it and promise him that everything would be okay. 

“Maybe it’d be best if we go back to being just friends,” he said, and my heart nearly shattered.

“That’s the last thing I want,” I said, reaching forward to take his hand, “what is so bad that you would rather break up with me than tell me what’s wrong?”

He climbed off the bed then, “why is it so important to you? I’m not asking you to care, so why do you?”

I was taken aback by his question, wondering how he could even think for a second that I wouldn’t want to care. He was killing me and he had no idea.

“Because I love you Ed. And you’re supposed to care about the people you love!”

He shook his head, ripping his backpack up off the floor, “I’m not doing this,” he said, and I jumped off the mattress, grabbing the top of his bag.

“You can’t keep hiding from your problems, Ed, it’s not healthy!”

I saw a look in his eye then and something deep within him snapped. He jerked his bag away from me, taking a step forward while I stepped back.

“What do you want me to say Mad?” he shouted, “that I don’t go to school because I get treated like complete shit? That I get pushed around and slammed into lockers nearly every day?”

He was yelling then, his face beaming red and a vein showing dominant in his neck. I cowered under him, flinching as he shouted, completely shocked at his sudden outburst. I felt tears burning my eyes.

“I didn’t know,” I trailed, my voice cracking with tears.

“And there’s a reason you didn’t, Madison, but you have to keep pushing and poking until I fucking explode!”

He was scaring me, leaning closer and closer to me as his voice raised to a velocity I’d never heard from him or anyone else. My foot caught against the bed frame and I plopped down against the mattress, my hands trembling.

It was as if a switch had been flipped and he stopped, standing over me with his bag still hanging by his right hand, breathing heavy with anger. 

“Get out,” I spat when he didn’t move, “just fucking leave!”

I shoved him back hard and stood, seeing his eyes mist over at the sudden realization of how he’d overreacted.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but I just pushed him out my bedroom door, slamming it behind him.

We didn’t talk for almost two days after that, and I refused to be the first to call, since I knew he owed me another apology. I knew there was more to what he told me that day. I knew that something else was eating away at him but I was far too afraid to ask and he was too afraid to tell. 

I cried myself to sleep the next day after I saw him at school and he didn’t say a single word to me. I didn’t want to lose Ed, and I didn’t want him to lose me either.

He called me on the second day, immediately spitting his apologies into the phone.

“You scared me,” I told him honestly, keeping my voice low.

“I know, and I’m a huge fucking asshole.”

He was right. There were certain things that I would let slide, like him hiding his problems from me, but I wouldn’t stand for him treating me the way he had. 

“Sometimes I just get too worked up,” he admitted, sighing heavily into the phone, “I get lost in the moment and I don’t realize what I’m doing.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re so afraid of talking to me, Ed.”

He kept quiet and I could feel the tension through the phone.

“I’m just afraid of what you’ll say.”

I felt my chest tighten then, suddenly worried that I was getting myself into something I couldn’t handle, but if Ed needed me, I knew I had to at least hear what he had to tell me.

I heard a faint yelling then inside the phone. It wasn’t Ed’s voice, and I couldn’t make out what it said, so I just sat there and listened, waiting for him to talk.

“Hang on,” he said then, his tone filled with annoyance. I heard him shout back, the sound muffled since he probably blocked the phone.

He came back shortly, but almost the second he did, a loud bang rang out into the phone, making me jump where I sat. 

“Ed?” I called, but there was no answer. I tried again, my heart skipping a beat when the line went dead.


	3. Secret's Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence

Ed’s POV:

Sometimes my life is like a blank page, with a cursor blinking over and over, nagging at me to plan something out. I can’t seem to figure out the right way to do things. For the past few months I haven’t been doing too well in school and the closer I seem to get toward graduation, the more I seem to take three steps back. It just doesn’t make sense for me to sit there day after day and learn shit I’ll never use, when I could be out working toward something that matters. 

The day I met Madison, she helped me up when I tripped, and though it wasn’t my proudest moment, I would go back and do it again and again. She had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen with a hint of honey surrounding her pupils, and wavy brown hair that fell neatly between her shoulders and elbows. I knew right away she was out of my league, but even so, I jumped at the chance to try and win her over almost a week after that.

She gave me a sense of calm and God I wished I could see her smile every single day. But I’m not good enough for her and even though we spend a lot of time together, I know she couldn’t like me like that. Either way, I take the time out of my day to see her, usually ending up rubbing off some of my bad influence on her. 

About a month after we first met, I couldn’t hold in my feelings for her anymore, so during school one day, just before the last class of the day, I asked her to come with me to the park we usually went to. She didn’t want to, and I felt bad for talking her into it, but I had to somehow show her that I was falling for her. I kissed her on her doorstep when I dropped her off at home, and I was the happiest I’d ever been.  
Two months later, things were falling apart. It was my own fault because I continuously put up a wall between us, too afraid to let her see the truth. I fucked up by shouting at her, even in the moment I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop.

I couldn’t understand why it was so hard for me to let her in and I hated that about myself. Maybe I was trying to protect her from worrying about me, or maybe I was just being selfish. 

I never wanted her to know how bad I had it in school, mainly because I was embarrassed by it. I knew she’d seen once the day after we met when I was slammed into a locker, but it was the first and only time she witnessed anything like it. I didn’t want her to see me as a target even though I was one because of the things I couldn’t change about myself. I didn’t choose to have red hair or a birthmark by my eye, I didn’t choose to have to wear glasses to see the board in class, or even a few feet away. I didn’t choose to have freckles and a slight stutter. 

She didn’t know that I had it almost as bad at home as I did at school. 

When we started seeing each other more we would sometimes spend afternoons at her house, and it was so refreshing and comforting to see what it looked like to not just be loved, but liked. Her mother was excited to have me over, greeting me in the kitchen with a warm hug and I noticed then that she had the same eyes and smile as her daughter. I stayed for dinner that night, and since her dad wasn’t there it was just the three of us. I smiled more than I had in months just being at her table, seeing Madison blush and hide her face in her hands when her mom told us stories about her as a little girl. 

It’s not that I’m not loved. I know that my parents love me, especially my mother, but my dad has a strange way of showing it. He can be supportive when he’s sober, but most of the time he’s not and he’d rather shout at me for something I’d done wrong or tell me I won’t amount to anything, though I’m sure he’s just being brutally honest. He’s obsessed with me getting an education even though he didn’t get one himself, and maybe that’s why he’s strict with me, but I know first-hand that forcing your kid to do something they don’t want to do doesn’t work; it only makes us rebel against them and their demands.

I have to tell myself that my dad wants what’s best for me, but it’s hard to believe it when he’s shouting and towering over me, his eyes red from the bottle he drowned himself in. It’s hard to love him then, but I do because he’s my dad. I tried talking to both my parents about how I wanted to pursue a music career, but my father says it isn’t a ‘man’s job’ and that I should get my head out of the clouds. My mother was as supportive as she could be, but she admitted that it wasn’t very realistic. 

Among the laundry list of things I never told Madison about me, smoking was one of them. At fourteen, I tried my first cigarette, and although I didn’t like the way it tasted, I still did it every now and then, not realizing then how easy it was to get hooked. The first sip of alcohol I had was from my father’s discarded glass of Jack Daniel’s one night after dinner. He left it there on the table and while my mother was cleaning the dishes with her back turned to me, I got up and took a swig. I was eleven years old.

After I turned thirteen, things got worse and I found myself stealing beer from the fridge one at a time late at night after my parents went off to bed, getting drunk in my room and hiding the bottles under my bed or in my backpack, where I’d throw them away in a random bin on the way to school. Now, at sixteen, it’s gotten to the point where I look forward to that stolen beer at one AM, but Madison doesn’t know that either. 

I know my mother wants the best for me and when she’s around she tries her hardest to protect me, whether it be at school or while I face my father. She’d always tell me when I would come home from school in tears or with skinned knees from being pushed around that all she wanted was to see me happy. She would clean me up and hold my face in her hands, promising me that I was her sun and moon and that I shouldn’t worry about what anyone else thought about me, because all that mattered was that she loved me. She would rest her hands against my shoulders, crouching down to my eye level after I told her the kids at school didn’t like me, tears trailing down my cheeks.

“Edward, darling,” she would say, adjusting my glasses, “you just be you. Be the silly little Edward that I love, and if those kids don’t like you it’s not your fault, it’s theirs, you find some who think you’re lovely the way you are.”

At seven years old, I believed her. But her love for me didn’t stop the bullying, and nine years later it was still a problem, just not nearly as bad. 

I didn’t want Madison to know that it was that bad, and I seemed to hide it fairly well from her, changing the subject anytime she asked me something personal, but I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever, and that proved to be a fact the night we fought. I caved and gave her the smallest glimpse of how it could be, but I went about it all wrong.

The night I called her, I knew I wasn’t supposed to be on the phone. I’d gotten myself grounded earlier that week, which was honestly no surprise because I was always doing something to justify it. I dialed her number anyway, apologizing immediately for how I’d treated her, trying to keep my voice low. The last thing I wanted was an argument after-all.

We talked for a while until I could hear the all-too familiar sound of a glass bottle dragging across the kitchen table, my dad having been at it since dinner, sipping back the amber booze while he sat alone under the light. 

“You’d better not be on that phone, Ed,” he shouted, and I quickly pulled it from my ear, blocking the microphone with my palm so Madison couldn’t hear.

I rolled my eyes, telling her to hold on before I shouted back, lying and saying that I wasn’t.

I knew I was stupid to lie, but I figured he was too far gone to notice. I failed to realize over the years that he was more alert than I thought he was with a drink in him. I flinched when he barged in my room unexpectedly, throwing open the door with a loud crack, the knob bouncing off the wall. I ended the call with Madison before she could hear anything else, tucking my phone under my leg and silently praying that he didn’t see.

He hardly gave me a chance to comprehend what had happened before he was lunging forward and grabbing my arm, barely giving me a chance to prepare for the inevitable. I leaned away, trying to dodge the oncoming blow from his hand, the side of my face between my cheek and ear radiating with pain when his skin met mine. My ear buzzed on impact, pins and needles prickling my face.

“Where is it?!” he shouted, shaking me by an arm and his feet unsteady while he swayed. I could smell the booze leaking from his pores as he spoke.

When I didn’t answer, he pulled me up straighter, yanking me forward before I could protect myself. My head fell to the side at the hard backhand, the sound resonating off the walls. He shouted at me again to tell him where my phone was, dangling me by the front of my hoodie while he spat his threats.

I was torn between handing it over and keeping it hidden. I knew that if I gave it up I wouldn’t have any contact with Madison, and I figured that if she heard what had happened before I hung up that she would be worried about me. But I knew that if I didn’t, he’d lash out even harder.

“I wasn’t on the phone,” I bravely lied again, instinctively wrapping my left arm around my head for protection. My face burned while I sat still under him, hoping that if there were ever a time where he backed down and left me alone, it would be then.

The next thing I knew he was ripping me off the bed and throwing me to the ground. I landed with a thud on my right side, immediately bringing my knees up and my arms out in an attempt to block the kick I knew was coming.

He ended up taking my phone after he left me there on the floor, struggling to heave air into my lungs from his boot against my stomach, almost instantly bruising my ribs. I coughed until I was red in the face, cradling my throbbing abdomen as I pushed up, tears filling my eyes from a combination of pain and lack of air.

I angrily wiped my eyes on my hoodie sleeve, scrambling to my feet. I didn’t waste another second, still holding my stomach while I went toward the window on the opposite side of the room. I didn’t care what he would do to me if he found out I left, I just knew I couldn’t stay.

I slipped out the small window, my breath leaving my mouth in short white puffs from the cold. I ran until my lungs burned, taking myself far out of view from my house and toward Madison’s.


	4. At Your Window

Ed’s POV:

I wished I could take it back. I wished I could turn away from her window and run as far away as I could, but I needed her too much. I wished I could erase the look on her face when she saw mine after sneaking me into her house. She ran her hand gently over my swelling cheek, and as careful as she was, I still flinched when she grazed the bruise with the pads of her warm fingers. 

She hugged me tighter than I’d ever been hugged, neither of us saying a word when she led me to her room by the hand, quietly shutting the door.

We sat against her bed, me at the foot and her beside me, both of us sat cross-legged. I picked at the loose skin on my fingers while her hand rested warmly over my knee.

“I never knew how to tell you,” I whispered, staring down into my lap.  
Before she had the chance to say anything at all, I began to tell her the very things I never knew how to say. I kept my eyes fixed on my lap while I told her the person responsible for marking my skin was my own father. I told her how night after night for as long as I can remember, I’d watch him drown himself in alcohol and take his anger out on me if I so much as breathed too loudly. I glanced up at Madison, seeing tears staining her cheeks, the soft glow from her beside lamp making them glisten.

“I’m so sorry,” her voice cracked when she whispered, wiping her eyes and sniffling back tears.

I lightly shrugged my shoulders, trying to make it seem as if I weren’t as bothered as I should be by the way things were.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I said, “it’s my own fault.”

She turned then, her hand finding my chin and lifting my gaze toward hers, shaking her head lightly. 

"Ed," she started, lowering her hand when I brought my eyes down to her mouth, "you can’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault."

As heartfelt as her words were, I didn’t believe them. For so many years I was made to believe that each and every time my father turned my pale skin purple it was justified, or when he shouted that I wouldn’t amount to anything it was true. When it’s drilled into you for so long, it takes more than just one person saying otherwise for you to believe it. 

“Yeah, well,” I sighed, “we both know I’m not the most obedient.”

She sat quiet then, her warm palm massaging my bicep, the gesture alone making me feel as if she truly cared. Suddenly, I felt safe seeing how a simple gesture could mean so much more than words. Funny how one pair of hands can cause so much pain, while another can do the complete opposite. I glanced down and smiled.

“I don’t want you to worry about me, Mad,” I said, gently running my hand over her knee in a neat circle, trying to reassure her that I was okay even if I really wasn’t.

“I can’t understand how anyone could hurt you,” she said.

She fired off questions then, which I couldn’t blame her for asking. She mainly wondered how my mother could allow such things to happen, but I assured her that she was hardly ever there to witness any of it. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t come clean to her sooner or ask for help, and the only explanation I had for her was that I didn’t want or need her or anyone else’s help. When she looked at me with such pain in her eyes, saying that she would trade places with me if she could, my stomach dropped to my feet.

“You don’t mean that,” I told her, “I don’t know what I would do if anyone ever hurt you.”

“I just feel like I should’ve known.”

I shrugged, shaking my head, “even if you did, you couldn’t have stopped him.”

She lowered her eyes, fiddling with her fingers. Though we hadn’t known each other long, I felt a connection to her that I hadn’t felt with other people. She listened when I spoke and showed an interest in my feelings, she offered me a shoulder no matter how many times I refused it. She believed in me when it felt like no one else did.

“Promise me you’ll be okay,” she whispered.

“I promise,” I smiled, enveloping her into my arms, our chins resting on each other’s shoulders. I felt her sniffle as she buried her face against my chest, and I pulled away enough to kiss the top of her head, massaging my fingers into the back of her hair. 

“Please don’t cry, love,” I breathed, inhaling the faint sweet scent of her shampoo.

We sat quiet after she said she wished things could be different for me, my hands holding hers against my lap. She pulled my hands and tugged me closer until her mouth met mine and I hadn’t planned on anything other than a kiss to happen, but she brought her trembling hands to the zipper on my hoodie, inching it down. I didn’t stop her when she pushed it off my shoulders, and she didn’t protest when I pulled her shirt over her head. 

We ended up naked under the sheets, my skin pressed to hers while I hovered over her, our hands shaking and hearts pounding out of our chests. It felt strange feeling so comfortable with her, having not been bared like that in front of anyone else. Her hands were cradling my face, drawing me closer until I felt her trembling lips on mine again.

It was indescribable to be so close to someone else, each of us exploring our most private of places together. Her hands wrapped around my neck, our breath stuttering and heavy as I buried my face beside her bare shoulder. 

It wasn’t what either of us expected or thought it would be, but I couldn’t have imagined it any better, especially it being with Madison. I’d been teased with the over-the-top and undeniably false stories of friends’ first times, and countless movies and even TV shows that put the idea in our young minds that losing your virginity was this intense glorified experience, when in reality your first time can be awkward and daunting.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” I asked afterward when we snuggled close together and she winced the slightest bit, bringing her hand up to brush a piece of orange hair from my eye.

She shook her head, a smile pulling at her mouth, “not really, it was just weird, but a good kind of weird.”

We stayed like that until I could see her eyes starting to flutter closed and I kissed her forehead.

“I think I love you,” I smiled, whispering softly.

“Are you just saying that because of what we just did?” the corners of her mouth pulled up as she tucked her hand neatly under her chin.

With a slow blink I shook my head against the pillow, “not completely,” I smirked and she flicked my nose with her index finger, “I would love you anyway, even if this never happened.”

I fell asleep that night with Madison glued to my front, her warm bare back against my skin while I slung my arms around her waist. I knew I should’ve gone home, but I couldn’t find it in me to peel myself away from her. 

The hardest part was saying goodbye at barely five in the morning. I nudged her awake gently by pressing my lips to her temple, dragging my fingers down her shoulder and arm. I didn’t want to wake her, but I knew I had to leave before her parents woke up. 

She stirred awake, stretching her arms out with a smile. We got dressed in silence, nothing but the sound of clothes being pulled over skin filling the space between us. It wasn’t until I pulled my shirt over my head that I’d realized she’d seen every inch of me there was to see, including the forming bruise on my stomach and the old fading marks scattered across my back. She didn’t make any comments or look at me any differently, and it comforted me knowing she could see past them.

“Wait,” I said, just before she headed for her bedroom door, “I need to tell you something else.”

She stopped, dropping her hand from the knob as she tucked her hair behind her ear. It’d only been briefly that I brought up wanting to pursue a music career to her, but I’d never said anything else on the subject. My ultimate plan was to leave the place I had to call home to prove that I could make something of myself, and that I could be successful and ultimately, happy.

She turned fully, crossing her arms over her chest and I swallowed the lump in my throat, pulling my hoodie sleeves over my hands.

“I’m leaving, Madison.”

Her face dropped, the color draining from her cheeks when her arms fell to her sides. The very last thing I wanted was to upset her or make her feel like I was abandoning her, but I had to do it for me. I felt like I didn’t have any other choice.

“Leaving where?” she asked, keeping her eyes on mine, “And when?”

“London,” I trailed, glancing down at my feet before tugging on my sleeves, pulling them as far as I could over my fingers, “And I’m leaving in a few days.”

I lifted my gaze and studied her expression, my eyes darting over her face searching for some kind of sign indicating how she felt.

“So that’s it then?” she finally spoke, her voice cracking and face contorting into nothing but pure sadness, a frown pulling over her mouth when she brought her hands up to hide it, “You’re breaking up with me?”

I shook my head wildly, reaching my hands out when I went toward her, resting them warmly around her wrists.

“No, love,” I said, pulling her close until she buried her face in my hoodie, “you have no idea how hard this is going to be for me, but I have to go. I can’t stay here.”

My heart broke when I felt her shudder, a soft cry squeezing out of her throat. 

“I just want you to be happy,” she cried, “but I don’t want you to go.”

I closed my eyes, trying to force the tears back into my ducts. For a split second I considered forgetting about the whole plan and staying with her, but I knew that if I didn’t leave, things would either stay the same or get worse, and I couldn’t risk either.

She sniffled and pulled away, wiping her hands over her face while I pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“I’m such a mess,” she chuckled through tears, a smile cracking through the sadness on her lips, “I’ve done nothing but cry since you’ve been here.”

I smiled and brushed my hand over her face, “You’re not a mess,” I assured her, “you’re gorgeous.”

I hugged her hard when we said goodbye, kissing until our lips swelled. She made me promise I would show up at school that day and even though I didn’t want to, I said I would just to be able to see her. 

She stood at the front door with dried tears over her cheeks, waving while I disappeared down the walkway. Once I was completely out of sight from her house, I pressed my covered hands over my face, feeling tears sting my eyes at the thought of being without her.


	5. Let Him Go

Her POV:

It didn’t seem real that he was actually leaving. It didn’t seem fair either, but I knew it was what he wanted the most. Ed kept things so tight-lipped that I’d never even heard him sing, or play his guitar. Hell, I didn’t even know he owned a guitar until two nights before he left.

He walked from his house to mine with the guitar out of its case and slung over his shoulder, smiling wide when I pulled the front door open.

“You weren’t at school today,” I smirked, the door hanging open and my arms folded over my chest while I leaned against the frame.

He shrugged in the carefree way that he does, his bottom lip spilling over his top one as he did, eyebrows pulling up, “You’re just mad ‘cause you had exams.”

“So did you, Ed, you just decided to automatically fail them because you’re too good for school, right?”

“Right,” he smiled matter-of-factly, tucking his lips in and squinting his eyes in the type of smile I can only describe as cat-like.

I would admit that I didn’t think he was serious about leaving, especially after a week had passed since he told me his plans and he was still home, but when he sat propped on the floor with his back pressed to my bed and his small guitar resting neatly against his thighs, I knew that not only was he serious, he was good. I could feel his passion in my bones as he sang, his voice turning to caramel the second the words spilled past his lips.

He sang me a cover of ‘Make You Feel My Love’ by Bob Dylan, and I sat beside him with my knees pulled to my chest, arms folded neatly around them while I listened. I rested my cheek against my arms, watching him stare down at his hands while he played, his eyes closing once he began.

The melody was soothing, his fingers working fast with each chord. It was almost mesmerizing to watch him, each word flowing from his mouth clear and calm and like something I’d never expect to come from him.

He cleared his throat once he stopped, giving the strings a final strum before resting his head back against the mattress and turning his face toward mine. His eyebrows became two flattened lines above his bright blue eyes while an even blush colored both cheeks.

“What do you think?” He asked and the question hung in the air like a patch of warmth in a cold room.

I saw it in his eyes exactly what he was thinking, and the two blue orbs darted over my face, begging me to soften the blow as if he couldn’t take another word of criticism. Although I had nothing but positive things to say about his talent, I knew there would be a part of him that wouldn’t believe me.

“I think you’re serious about leaving,” I said, keeping my voice low at the sudden realization, “and I think you’ve got talent that a lot of people would kill to have.”

A smile pulled at his mouth and he diverted his eyes to his lap while his fingers quietly strummed, and although I knew how hard it would be for me to let him go, I knew I had to. I knew that he would make it and become something he’d always dreamed of being.

“You know,” he started, resting the guitar beside him on the floor, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands until they disappeared and stilled in his lap, “I rehearsed this massive speech about how I want you to come with me-“

I shifted where I sat, halfway between opening my mouth to tell him I couldn’t when he shook his head and reached for my hand, peering through his orange strands of hair and into my eyes, “but I know how selfish that is, and I know that you’ve got your own plans.”

It was clear to me that he knew exactly what he wanted and what he didn’t want. Just by looking in his eyes I could see that he’d not only contemplated asking me to go with him wherever he was going, he’d probably lost sleep about it. Deep down I knew that he wanted to take me along on his journey, and as difficult as it was for me, it wouldn’t have been possible for me to go with him.

We spent one of our last days together padding along a beach, even though it was nearing winter. I was bundled up in one of Ed’s hoodies, his left arm slung around me while we walked, and halfway down the frozen sand I stopped him with a laugh against the cold salty air, my breath lingering in a puff of white.

“What the hell are we doing?” I asked him, my teeth chattering, and I noticed then that Ed was too, but he was trying to hide it.

“We’re walking on the beach,” he said with a hint of surprise in his tone, his own hoodie sleeves stretched over his hands.

The waves were crashing violently, mirroring the emotion stirring silently inside my head and my heart. Ed hadn’t told anyone but me that he was planning on leaving and I felt worried for him.

“No,” I told him, raising my voice over the waves, “I mean, what are we doing, Ed? What are you doing?”

He seemed confused, his eyebrows angling as he looked around, searching for an answer from somewhere other than his own mouth.

“You’re leaving,” I continued, “and you haven’t even said whether you have a place to stay or not. You don’t have any money-”

He stepped closer, catching me off guard when he wrapped his arms around me, the warmth from his body immediately comforting me, even though my nose was numb and my knees trembled.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, and I could hear him smile while he said it, “I’ll be fine.”

“You have to at least tell me how you’re getting to the city,” I sighed, and just as I pulled away from his embrace, he looked down at me with a small little smile and a shrug.

“Well,” he trailed, “I was thinking of taking a bus, or train, but I could always just walk. Might take a bit,”

I playfully shoved his chest and he brought his hands down to my hips, steadying me to him, “you know what I meant.”

With a quiet laugh he nodded, his cheeks turning rosy from the cold, the breath between us seeping out in a soft white mist, “I’m catching a night bus, probably from the nearest station. Better?”

It didn’t make me any happier, or make me feel any better about him going, but at least then I could have peace of mind about how he was getting to where he wanted to be; knowing Ed, he might rely on hitchhiking, and the thought of it made my stomach turn.

I trusted him, and the next night at two in the morning, he left just like he said he would.

He showed up at my window with his guitar case hanging in his right hand, a green Element bag slung across his back and a stare as still as stone over his face. I didn’t notice the swollen cut lip and eye until he walked into the light above my back door step. I couldn’t stand to see something so horrible on the boy I loved so much, and although he didn’t want me to, I brought him to the bathroom and cleaned him up, fighting back angry tears while he sat quietly on the lidded toilet.

“This is the last time he’ll ever lay a hand on me,” he suddenly said, his voice low enough for me to hardly hear the words, and he kept his eyes fixed on the floor between his feet while I dabbed a wet cotton ball over the tiny cut etched into his cheek, the white fading to pink and red with each pass.

In those moments, it’s hard to find the right words to say. It’s hard to force yourself into someone else’s shoes and speak the words you think they’d want to hear. So instead of saying anything, I kept quiet, gently cleaning him up until he sighed and lightly pushed my hand away.

“I tried,” he shrugged, the smallest frown pulling at his mouth, “I tried so fucking hard to stay. I tried to hate him enough to stop caring.”

My heart sunk at the sight of his chin beginning to quiver, and before I could witness a tear, he threw his face in his hands, inhaling until he calmed himself down enough to continue.

“Why do I still love him, Madison? Why do I let him get to me?”

I sighed, dropping the soiled cotton into the bin beside me before leaning back against the sink.

“Because he’s your dad. And no matter how much of an asshole he can be, there’s still a part of you that loves him because you know that he’s capable of loving you back.”

Ed covered his face with his hands again, and as hard as it was to watch, I knew the dam would eventually break. Tears pooled his eyes as I pulled him up to wrap my arms around him, the side of my face finding his warm shoulder.

Before he left for good he pulled my face in his hands and made me promise that I wouldn’t lose sleep over him. Through tears and a little white lie I said I wouldn’t, hugging him so tightly I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d bruised his skin.

I wished there was a way I could make things different for him, and suddenly I realized that just being hopeful hardly changed a thing. It always came down to one little wish and another promise, and it seemed that all those tiny wishes I had for him were piling up and spilling out of a jar that had no lid and no limit.

As quickly as he broke down, he sniffled back the tears and wiped his face, cracking the smallest smile before reaching into his hoodie pocket.

“I don’t want to leave on a sad note,” he said, just before a necklace dangled from his fingers.

I glanced down between us as he lifted it with two hands, extending the black leather rope to show me, “I made this last night,” he smiled, resting the small white pendant against his thumb, “I carved one for each of us.”

I reached up with a smile, running my fingers along the smooth jagged heart shape he so carefully crafted. I didn’t have a chance to respond before he slipped behind me, still with his blue eyes glistening and red, and lightly brushed the hair from my neck. I felt it then when he draped the necklace around my neck that I wasn’t just a naïve sixteen year old that fell for the troubled boy, he was someone who I wholeheartedly cared about, and someone who I loved with the every inch of me. He cared enough to carve an actual stone into a misshapen heart, and I couldn’t have seen more clearly then how hard it was going to be for me to let him leave.

His hands fell around my middle and he guided me toward the mirror above the bathroom sink, my hands instinctively falling to the small pendant.

“You made this?” I whispered, my eyes meeting his in the mirror, feeling his body warm to mine while he held me by the waist.

“Do you like it?”

He rested his chin against my shoulder and I nodded, my right hand inching up until I angled his face to mine and kissed him like I meant it.

“It’s perfect,” I smiled, spinning to face him and my hands holding his cheeks.

He wouldn’t let me walk with him to the nearest bus station, explaining through teary eyes that it was far too cold outside and he didn’t want me walking back alone. I stood at the front window, waving through tears at the sight of him disappearing down the street, his own hand swallowed by his sleeve and waving right back.

I couldn’t do it. I wanted to be strong for him, and I wanted to watch him take his very first step toward something better, but it was too damn hard. With the necklace he’d given me dangling from my neck I grabbed the pendant and twirled it around and around in my fingers, contemplating my life without him for as long as I could stand. I collapsed against the sofa, tears staining both cheeks while I cried into my hands, the pendant still swinging from my neck.

I erased the tears from my cheeks, sniffling once I found the will to smile at the stone-carved heart against my chest. Without another thought, I pushed up off the sofa, finding my feet carrying me toward the door, and before I could weigh the pros and cons, my hand met the knob.

The ground was ice beneath my socked feet, the soles of them burning as I ran, the pendant bouncing off my chest almost as fast as my own heartbeat.

“Wait,” I called out, nearly breathless from the cold. The silhouette of his guitar case swung by his side while he walked with his green bag slung off his shoulders.

I pushed myself to run faster when he didn’t hear me call after him, and with another hard inhale and a call of his name, he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, his eyes not believing his ears.

“Madison,” he trailed, resting his guitar down, his hands raising up toward me.

I fell into his arms and he caught me, one hand wrapping around the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair and the other around my shoulders.

“I don’t know how to let you go,” I breathed, my chest heaving against his and my fingers digging into the bag that hung off his back.

“You can,” he almost whispered, “it’s okay to let me go.”

I cried harder then, teetering between my life without him and his life without me. It seemed impossible, but even given how painful it would be, I ultimately would decide that I would give him up if it meant he could find happiness.

I looked up the moment he pulled away, his hands pressed to my tear stained cheeks, seeing his orange hair glow under the lamp post we landed at. Without another thought I pressed my mouth to his, finding my breath completely gone and his lips dry against mine.

Once I broke away I found a warm smile on his face, and he glanced up high above us, his blue eyes gleaming when he nodded for me to look with him. The smallest snowflakes began to fall, and they fluttered down like small particles of frozen dust, decorating Ed’s hair with fine white dots and dissolving almost the second they landed.

“This won’t be a goodbye, Madison, I promise,” he said, looking back down at me, and I felt a dagger through my chest.

“Promises are meant to be broken,” I frowned, sniffling against my hand.

The pad of his left thumb erased the single tear heading down my cheek and he shook his head with his eyes straight, “but we aren’t,” he said.

In the same instance he spoke the words, he reached into the neckline of his hoodie and fished out his own little pendant, the black rope tight against his pale skin. With his free left hand he reached for the one against my chest, holding the two while he kept his eyes locked on mine, “this is something that’ll remind us of each other,” he started, his voice cracking with each word, “it’s a piece of me and you.”

I choked back the tears, my hands clutching his arms while he held the pendants, a broken ‘I love you’ tumbling out of my mouth while he brought his hands back to my cheeks. My lips trembled from the cold and he leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead before enveloping me in his arms one last time. I closed my eyes with my face buried in his hoodie while we stood there under the 6th street lamp post, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the falling snow.


	6. Touch and Go

Ed’s POV

 

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of her hands on me or the way her lips press soft to mine. I knew I couldn’t move on from something I hadn’t even let go of yet, but it seemed obvious to me that if I continued to dwell on her and what we had before I left, I wouldn’t go anywhere but down. 

I left her with a necklace, and as insignificant as it might seem, I knew it gave her something to remember me by. It wasn’t that I assumed I’d never see her again, but sitting on the bus, a daunting, sinking feeling came over me that things just wouldn’t be the same.

Even so, I couldn’t put off leaving anymore. I couldn’t stand to hear another argument, especially when I was the fuel to my parents’ fire. They’d play the blame game at least once a week over me, my mother shouting at my father because he pushed me too hard, and him screaming back at her, saying she shouldn’t have coddled me so much.

The night I left for good, I stuffed my green Element bag full to the brim with what clothes I could fit, slung it over my right shoulder and grabbed my guitar. It got to the point where I was so desperate to leave that I didn’t care if either of my parents knew it, but even so, I figured leaving without argument would be best, so I held off until almost one in the morning when I knew my mother would be asleep, and at least hoping my dad would be, too.

As my luck would have it, he was sat at the kitchen table, still as stone under the light with a near empty bottle of Jack in front of him. The side of his face rested against the back of his hand, and I as much as I wanted to laugh at how pathetic he looked, I didn’t dare risk waking him up. It wasn’t the first time he drank himself to sleep in that same spot, and thanks to the many years of tiptoeing past him, I knew if I was quiet enough, I could slip by him unnoticed with little effort.

It felt as if I were a child playing a game of hide and seek, creeping around the house to not draw attention to myself, and the same heavy feeling filled my stomach while I stepped over the threshold between the hallway and the kitchen, keeping my eyes on my father slumped over in his seat like a sack of potatoes.

Another step forward and the wooden floor creaked under my weight, the chair he was in squeaking under him when he stirred from the noise. I waited for silence without moving my foot another inch, his eyes catching me when they bobbed open. Mine stayed fixed on him as he lifted his head and glanced at the time, it seeming to stand still when he brought his gaze to me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he groaned, trying to mask the sleep in his voice with anger while he pushed up out of the chair.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. I stood in silence waiting for him to think I was some sort of mirage in his drunken state before I even attempted to take a breath. Of course he awaited some sort of response from me, and I swallowed back the nerves, standing my ground before opening my mouth.

“We both know this is what has to happen,” I told him, keeping my eyes on him while he took an uneven step toward me, the bottle clutched in his left hand when he stood.

“What? You think you’re just going to leave and make it big overnight?” he asked me, bringing the bottle to his lips to finish it off. 

The slur in his words made fire spread in my chest, and as much as I wanted to tell him off, I didn’t, knowing I’d much rather leave the easy way.

“I don’t want to fight,” I continued, adjusting my bag against my shoulder, “so just let me go and we can pretend you didn’t see me.”

Without another word I walked forward, only just making it past the kitchen when he grabbed the back of my bag and slammed me into the nearest wall. The bottle fell from his hand, glass shattering at our feet as I dropped my guitar to brace myself with my palms flat, the side of my face pressed to the cool drywall. I pushed off with my hands and he spun me, slamming my back against it, my bag being the only thing protecting my spine from the plaster. He clutched the front of my hoodie and for a split second I considered bringing my knee up to fend him off, but I couldn’t do it.

“Let go,” I warned through clenched teeth, my hands scrambling to grab his wrists. He always seemed to gain exceptional strength when he had a drink in him and he pressed me tight to the wall, his left fist balled up in the front of my hoodie.

“You think you’re better than me,” he slurred while I struggled, using my free hand to attempt to push him away by his arm.

I failed in my attempt to fend him off, the sting of his hand against my cheek sending my head to the right at the force. I shook off the tingle in my nose, using my foot to send a swift kick against his shin, my face flush with anger. He backed off a bit but still held my hoodie, punishing me with an even harder backhand, just to prove that he could. I slumped against the wall, bringing my arms up to shield my face from his wrath.

“You want to leave?!” He shouted, the velocity of his anger piercing my eardrums.

I held the side of my face while I straightened up, my cheek numb from his knuckles. I glanced down at my fingers to see them painted red with blood, just before he grabbed me again and shoved me toward the front door.

“Go ahead then!” he carried on, pushing me hard until I stumbled, “If you think you’re better off then go.”

I would’ve ran out the door if I’d had my guitar, but it was still in the kitchen against the floor. I turned to retrieve it with trembling hands, my face burning with resentment as I pushed past him. I dodged him, swiping the case off the floor before he could touch me again.

I wiped my cheek against my hand, feeling my bottom lip swollen from one of the two blows, or from him slamming me into the wall. Through heavy breathing I reached for the door knob, clutching the guitar case in my other hand so hard I could feel my knuckles burn.

“I don’t know why,” I started, forcing my voice through the lump in my throat, “but I still fucking love you, dad. I tried to stay, I tried to make you love me back.”

From the hall came the sound of a door and just as he took an unsteady step forward, I saw my mother cut around the corner, her eyes slits from the light when she spotted us both.

“What’s going on out here?” she asked, her eyes darting from the shattered glass on the floor and to the two of us stood in the front room.

“If you walk out that door, you’d better not come back,” my father slurred, his eyes glossed over and red from the bottle he drowned himself in.

His words stung, but beneath the anger I knew it was the alcohol bringing out the absolute worst in him.

My mother put two and two together but I slipped out the door before she had the chance to come forward to stop me, sealing the door with a slam. I wiped my face again, fighting the burn in my throat and the tears stinging my eyes while I walked without looking back. I picked up the pace, even after my mother stood in the cold on the front steps, pleading with me to come back. I knew she would’ve chased me had it not been for her turning to my father to take out every ounce of her anger on him. Maybe she assumed I would be back. Maybe she didn’t want to believe that I had it in me to leave for good.

I wondered what she would think a few days out when she’d find my room and the house void of me. I wondered if she’d cry when she found the words ‘I love you’ written on a little sticky note that I pressed to the steering wheel in her car hours before I left. I wondered if she’d miss me.

I was thankful to have someone to go to after such a brutal episode. Even though she didn’t say much, Madison knew the exact words to say. I knew that she cared about me, and when she sat me down to clean me up, I saw it in her eyes that she hoped for something so much better for me. It hurt seeing that look of worry in her eye, because I knew I was the reason behind it and it was the last thing I wanted her to feel. All I wanted was for her to be happy.

It was strange to me that I’d just hopped on a bus and was leaving home for good. There were so many times where I’d sit on my bed with my guitar in my lap, daydreaming about doing just that, and finally it was happening. Granted I had no place to live and only enough money to maybe buy myself a sandwich, but it felt good to pack up my things and leave everything else behind.

The first two weeks out in the big city by myself was the hardest part, or what I thought at the time was the hardest part. It was lonely, and I found myself texting Madison more than she might’ve expected me to, but still she answered every single message, encouraging me to stay and pull through it one little word at a time.

I stepped off the bus at almost four in the morning and wandered to the lower level of the terminal, seeing the foot traffic begin to pick up once it hit five. Further down the way I spotted an older man with a harmonica sat atop a tipped over orange bucket, collecting money in a tattered black hat while he played.

I kept my distance, respecting the space he seemed to have claimed and propped open my guitar case, planning to do just as he was. While I played I smiled at each passing traveler, giving them each a friendly nod. Though I hadn’t received much compensation, the way some of them gave me a warm smile made me feel important. Most would just walk on without acknowledging me or the man on the bucket, but some would linger, every so often checking their watches or cell phones for the time. When it came time for them to carry on, they would smile or throw some loose change into the case and I would nod back at them with a grin, watching each of them wander off to the lives I might kill to have.

By seven, I’d almost run out of music to play, pacing myself by taking short breaks between songs to make friendly conversation with whomever chose to stop and inquire. I figured I should get myself familiar with the city and maybe start looking for a solid way to earn some money, especially considering I would need a place to stay that night.

Not that it was about the money for me at the time, but I’d earned enough to at least buy myself a cheap breakfast of some sort. I collected what little I’d earned and shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans, kneeling down to pack up my guitar when a voice caught me off guard. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” it spat, and I glanced up and to my left to see the older man who’d been playing the harmonica, hovering over me while I tucked my guitar back in its case.

I pushed to my feet, guarding my bag and guitar before taking a step back. 

“I was just leaving,” I told him.

“This is my spot!” He shouted, still leaning toward me, “Because of you I lost two hours pay, so hand it over.”

He held out his filthy hand while I hiked up my jeans with another step backward.

“I earned what I made,” I started, “sorry you didn’t, but I’m not giving you what I have.”

It became clear then that I had no idea what I was getting myself into, especially when he took a step closer and started shouting in my face, his breath rank as if he hadn’t brushed his teeth in weeks.

“This is my spot!” He screamed a second time, like a child throwing a tantrum, and I flinched, cringing at the spray of spit that flew from his mouth, “That money is mine!”

Before it could escalate further, I decided it’d be best to hand over a small amount of money, so I dug into my pockets, dropping a few coins into his demanding palm. He roughly snatched the rest from my hand, spilling some along the ground and dropping to his knees to scrounge them up. I backed off, taking the opportunity to grab my things and leave before he realized I’d only given him some of what I’d earned.

Thankfully, the rest of the first day went a bit smoother. I found a somewhat crowded park around noon time and did the same as I had in the bus station, propping open my case and played until my fingers hurt. I earned a bit more that time around, and though it still wasn’t much, it made me feel as if I did have a chance at succeeding.

It was two solid weeks of the same routine. Walk around the city, play whatever songs I knew to earn some money, spend that money on food, and do it over again until the sun disappeared. The majority of the time, I slept on buses and trains between traveling to different spots, and though I was beyond the point of sleep deprived, I didn’t let it stop me from playing. I hadn’t showered, but I did what I could to keep myself somewhat clean in public bathrooms, thankful that I at least had a toothbrush stuffed in my bag. 

On a night I couldn’t keep my eyes open, I sent a text to Madison letting her know I was thinking about her and that I missed her. I was sat on a night bus with my head against the window and the necklace I’d made still tightly around my neck, trying my hardest to close my eyes and give in to sleep, but my racing mind wouldn’t let me. Madison had answered my late messages in the past, but on that particular night a little after midnight, she didn’t respond. I sighed and huddled up closer to the window, cursing under my breath each time the driver hit a bump. 

Between the ride itself being rickety and my head vibrating against the glass window, the driver turned the lights on and off at each stop, making each of us squint at the blinding lights while we were trying to sleep. I was on edge from the exhaustion as it was, and the third time he turned the lights on, I groaned out of frustration.

“Just keep the fucking lights off for fuck’s sake,” I spat, and his eyes darted to me through the overhead mirror.

“There a problem back there?” he asked, the bus still at the stop while two or three people unloaded.

For a minute I kept quiet, since I’d realized I didn’t have a valid ticket. I’d do the same thing every night on different buses; pay for one stop and hide away in the back until the last one. I’d sleep the majority of the way, get off at the final stop, pay for one ticket a stop away if I had the money, and stay on until I ended up at my original starting point again. It worked for about three straight nights, until I decided to let my mouth ruin my little scheme.

“No sir,” I mumbled.

His eyes wandered around the bus, and I diverted my eyes until he caught my attention again.

“Let me see your ticket,” he said.

I hadn’t been paying attention exactly to where we were, but I knew the bus was far off from where I’d first boarded, and I knew from taking so many different routes that there wasn’t a transfer back to where I needed to be until morning.

“I’m off in a few stops,” I replied, but he still demanded to see my ticket. 

With a sigh I slung my bag over my shoulder and picked up the guitar case, making my way up to the front of the bus. Although I apologized for my rude remark and begged him to let me stay on, he told me to get off the bus, since I’d gone almost a half hour on a free ride. I’d have paid extra money to stay on if I’d had any.

I slumped down the steps, cursing myself when the doors shut behind me and the lights flicked off, just before he pulled away and left me at the vacant bus stop in the middle of a place I didn’t recognize.

The first thing I did was check my phone for any response from Madison and when I saw that she hadn’t replied, I sat down against the cold metal bench, trying to decide if I should get walking back or hang around until morning to try and sneak back on a bus. My phone was losing battery, and since I hadn’t the first idea what direction to start walking in, I stayed put on the bench, tucking my arms in my hoodie to hide from the cold and pulled the strings tight to shield my face from the wind.

It was a low point, and after an hour of sitting and near freezing to death, I stood from the bench and made the desperate decision to hitchhike. I walked a few feet up the road until I was stood under a glowing orange lamp post and awaited a passing car, the light above me reminding me of the night I left. Every so often cars would pass, and though I held out my thumb, none of them stopped. I didn’t like the idea of hitchhiking, but I decided I would take the risk if it meant I didn’t have to suffer from hypothermia.

My teeth chattered and my hands were burning from the harsh wind when a car finally pulled up to the side of the road, the exhaust spilling out in a thick cloud of white. I thanked the stranger under my breath as I jogged up toward the black car, waving my hand for the person to wait while I ran with my bag bouncing against my back and guitar case swinging by my side.

“Where you headed?” the guy asked when he rolled down the window.

“London,” I answered almost in a question, shivering and bouncing on my heels while I continued, “or as close to there as you can get me, I got off at the wrong stop and there’s not another bus till morning.”

The guy was a bit older and fairly heavyset, and though his black hair was shaved short, I could see bits of gray showing through. He gave me a look up and down before he shrugged his shoulders, “Alright, get in,” he said and an immediate weight was lifted off my shoulders.

I spat my thanks as I stuffed my guitar in the backseat and ran around the car, sniffling from the warmth with a sigh of relief. I rested my bag in my lap and buckled my seatbelt.

“You have no idea how good it feels to be out of that cold,” I said, tucking my numb hands under my armpits.

“You been out there long?”

I shook my head, “About an hour, but Jesus it felt longer.”

The first few minutes of the ride was silent, and I glanced around the car, seeing the radio switched off. I refrained from reaching forward to break the awkward silence by turning it on, every so often looking out the window and at the time, wondering how much longer it would be before we were close to the city.

“So what’s your name, kid?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of us.

“Ed,” I told him, wishing I’d paid attention to which way the bus had driven.

I held a little tighter to my bag when I realized we’d been driving a bit longer than we should’ve been, keeping my left hand on the door handle and hidden. He made a right turn that seemed out of the ordinary, considering the road was vacant and dark, and I kept hearing my mother’s voice in my head the night I told her I wanted to leave. She warned me about hitchhiking or taking things from strangers, and it seemed so obvious that I shouldn’t, but I was too focused on the cold to realize the potential danger. The fear rushed my veins when the car slowed to crawl along the side of the road, my eyes darting out the window.

“What’re we stopping for?” I asked, trying to hide the uneasiness in my voice.

Without saying a word he put the car in park and killed the engine, keeping the interior lights off when he turned a bit in his seat to face me.

“We’ve been driving for a bit,” he said, “we can take a break, sit and get to know each other.”

My stomach felt heavy and I shifted in my seat, seeing the surrounding area around us completely dark. I could hear my own heartbeat while he sat staring at me, and when he reached toward the center console I flinched, moving my knees to avoid any sort of contact.

“Relax,” he said, my eyes following his hand when he grabbed a cigarette pack, “You smoke?”

I cleared my throat, knowing better than to take one, “No,” I lied, and he plucked one from the pack and lit up before he cracked his window and took a long drag.

“Look,” I started, fidgeting in my seat, “I appreciate the ride and everything, but I really have to get back.”

He sat silent, drawing smoke into his lungs, resting his head back against the headrest. I studied him carefully, my heart thumping behind my ribs. I knew that if I got out of the car he could run me down with little effort, and if I did get out and he didn’t run me down, my mind immediately thought the worst.

“I’ll get you home, kid,” he said finally, taking one last drag before flicking the glowing cigarette out the window, “but you know I expect something in return for getting you there, right?”

I shook my head, “Look, man, I’m not-I don’t,” I trailed. He rolled up the window and I pulled the door handle, finding it unresponsive, “I don’t have any money,” I continued, sweat coating my palms after the door wouldn’t budge, “All I have of value is my guitar, but it’s not even worth that much, it’s small.”

“Who said I was looking for money?” he asked and my stomach plummeted straight to my feet.


	7. Bend and Not Break

_**Ed:** _

 

Numbness coursed through the tips of my fingers from clutching my phone so tight, but I didn’t let it go.  I didn’t move.

“You didn’t assume this was free ride, did you lad?” the guy asked, his voice coarse, laughter threatening to escape his throat.  I hadn’t noticed the stench of alcohol on his breath until that moment.

The sound faded in my ears, and with a blink I’m five years old again, a red cap settled over my hair while my mother held my hand and made me promise to never talk to strangers.  The flashback vanished the second I opened my eyes, his breathing snatching me back down to reality.  The reality itself is bleak and while I sit stiller than stone, I find it hard to believe I’d gotten myself into such a situation.  My mind raced along with the pound of my heart against my ribs, and although I envisioned shattering the window with my elbow, the strength I’ve got comes second to that of the glass.

I flinched when he reached over the console, trying to stay focused on keeping his hands off me and how to get out.  On how to survive.

“Don’t,” I said in the only stern defense I could muster, my hand shoving his away from where he brought it toward my thigh.

My stomach sunk when the heat radiated off his fingers and hovered heavy in the air inches above my leg.  Aside from the swirling fear in the pit of my gut, sweat beaded at my temples, even though the weather beyond the window was close to freezing.

He exhaled a partial laugh through his nose and the smile etched over his mouth faded once he turned his face toward me.  He seized my arm faster than I could have prepared for it.

“It can go one of two ways, _Ed_ ,” he snapped, placing emphasis on my name in the same instance he tugged my arm to hold me still, “you can give me what I want the easy way, or I can take it from you the hard way.”

I fought back, hands trembling with fear while I pulled.  I was successful in breaking free when I dropped my phone and shoved  my bag at his face.  But without thought his fists deflected it and he showed his anger and strength in the way he yanked me back harder than the first time.  Panic sat heavy in my stomach when he moved his hand and clutched the back of my neck so hard I had no choice but to hunch up my shoulders.

Out of complete fear, my knees trembled, and as hard as I scratched and pulled at his hand on my neck, he hardly loosened his hold.  I continued the fight, bringing my hands from his to swing and hit whatever part of him I could to fend him off.

With a hard swing my fist caught just under his jaw and he spat a curse, his hand falling away to cradle his aching throat.  I could hardly focus on breathing when I hurried over the console and climbed into the back, kicking my guitar case out of the way and scrambled for the door handle, finding it unresponsive just the same as the front had been.  Without wasting a second I tried the other door, not surprised when it didn’t budge.  My fists pounded the window and I jabbed my elbow against the glass until it hurt too much to carry on. 

I stopped to ring out my hands and the car fell silent after he pushed open the front door.  My bag settled in the dirt with a thud once he chucked it out and climbed from the car.

My eyes darted to the front to contemplate an escape, but there wasn’t a chance I’d get away unscathed with him stood beside it.  When he ripped open the back door I scrambled to find anything to fight him off, only my guitar sat against the back seat.  Having no other option or weapon, I shoved the case at him once he leaned in.  Crushing fear rocked through me when he grabbed it and tossed it to the dirt, the hollow wood echoing inside the case when the metal latch popped and it opened at the force.

I kicked at his hands when he reached in for my ankle, but he proved to be faster and more focused.  It felt as if my body surrendered when he won with a hard pull, my head knocking against the window when he dragged me down.  My hands scrambled to find something to grab, but the fear forced its way into my bones, crippling me when he flipped me over to my front and shoved my face into the cold leather seat.  I fought to turn my head to breathe, his weight sinking over me against the car seat.

Still I fought but it proved to be hopeless as he straddled me, pinning me beneath his weight while one hand secured me by the back of my head, the other fighting to yank down my jeans.  With all the might I had I shook my head under his hand, my own useless in the way he had me pinned.  The fear lingered when he forced my left arm under his knee.

My only advantage then was my right arm, but even so, it was difficult to maneuver in any way, given his weight crushing my legs where he sat against my thighs.  I kicked my feet hard and strained my neck to push up with my right hand against the car floor and seat.  I panted against the leather, my chest and hands trembling with pure fear while he continued to pull at the band of my jeans.  Through a weak voice I muttered for him to stop, and with a sharp inhale and every bit of strength I had, I twisted my shoulders and brought my right arm up enough to jut my elbow straight into his face.

He recoiled and I hit him again for good measure, ignoring the ache in my arm and pounding in my skull.  When he grabbed his nose and lost his balance, he tumbled over to the space between the seat and floor.  I moved fast and pushed backward out the door on my hands and knees while he struggled to get up.  I was thankful the alcohol slowed him down, hearing him groan through the pain when I dropped to the dirt.

I gathered up my bag and guitar, shivering from the cold and the fear still pumping through my veins.  I managed to sling my bag over my shoulder while glancing back toward the car, and before he could compose himself, I took off running without looking back.

Part of me believes that everything happens for a reason.  Through countless fights with my drunken father and the beatings I had no choice but to take, I would to tell myself that things had to get better, because it didn’t seem possible for them to be any worse.  But that point, the point where I crawled out of a car and ran until my lungs threatened to burst, I couldn’t find any truth in the phrase.  Maybe things aren’t supposed to work out for me, maybe I’m one of the rare ones who just gets the shit end of the stick and nothing more.

Once I finally stopped running and slowed to a walk I came to a pub, the outside vacant with just a single car parked out front.  Just to get out of the cold and the apparent dangers of outside, I wandered in, thankful the door was still open given it had to be well past two in the morning and typical pubs closed nearer to eleven.

To my surprise and bit of relief, the inside was just about as empty as the outside, only two people sat on opposite ends of the bar.  The warmth pricked my cheeks and I sniffled as I wiped my nose on the back of my hand, the door slamming shut behind me. 

The barman glanced over his shoulder at the noise but turned his attention back to the television just above the back of the bar, the other two men sat behind him following suit.   I didn’t have any money but I searched my pockets anyway, nothing but lint stuffing itself under the crevice of my nails.

“You have ID?” he asked once I drew closer and set my guitar case down, taking a seat toward the far right. 

“I’m not looking for a drink,” I said, trying to keep my voice low, “I was hoping you had a phone I could use?”

He gave me a once over the same way the stranger in the car had, and I shivered with a shift in my seat.

“Make it quick, yeah?” he sighed, reaching beneath the bar, “Local call only.”

He placed the phone against the counter and I nodded with a cracked smile.

I hesitated.  Going home seemed to be the only option, given the circumstances and the lack of any resources I had to keep myself afloat on my own.  I felt lower than I ever had been and the threat of failure weighed down on my shoulders, the voice inside my head spewing poison when it gave a solid attempt at persuading me to go back home and forget the pipe dream.  My father’s harsh words crept their way into my brain, swirled and echoed until I couldn’t take the noise anymore.  He’d tell me more than enough times that I didn’t have what it would take to be successful, that a career in music wasn’t good enough for him.  At one point before I up and left, he spat that I’d be lucky to do any better than flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant for the rest of my life. 

With the phone in my hand I stared down at the buttons, itching to dial the only person who would answer a call at such an hour.  I leaned against the bar on my bruised elbow, the phone to my right ear and stomach heavy while I sat.  With each ring the nerves crept up my legs and swirled low in my stomach.

When it went to voicemail after a series of rings I sat with the words stuck to my palette, unable to push them through my teeth and into the phone.  I hung up and held my thumb on the button, fighting with myself to decide if going back was the right choice. 

After the second time with no luck I hung the phone up and sat quietly, fighting sleep while I leaned my face on the back of my hand.  I took the unanswered calls to my mother as a sign that I shouldn’t turn back just yet.

Not long after, the two men finished their drinks and left the bar, leaving just me and the barman. 

I watched him collect and stack the scattered glasses along the bar, wiping up the rings they left beneath them with an old tattered rag.

“As much as I fancy the company, I’m closing up soon, lad,” he told me while he worked, dropping the glasses in a plastic bin under the counter.

I nodded against my hand, spotting money and a bit of loose change just within reach to my left.  My eyes darted from the bartender back to the money and without a single care, I swiped it and shoved it in my front pocket.  I stood from the barstool with my guitar tight in my fist before he had the chance to turn his back and see that I’d slipped out the door.

Running seemed to be the only thing I was good at.  I went until I felt to be a safe distance from the pub and pulled the money from my pocket to count what I’d gotten away with.  For the risk I’d taken in stealing it, twenty pounds didn’t seem worth it.  I sighed and shoved the bills and coins back in my jeans, slinging my bag over my back before continuing along. 

 I stopped cold in my tracks when I heard the rumble of an engine and a shout a few paces behind. 

“Hey!” the voice called, and I ducked away around a close corner.

Straight fear shot through me the closer the car came.  My eyes darted over the street, the darkness and the glowing headlights obstructing the view.  I couldn’t take any chances in standing still, and once the car came closer, I continued to run.  Again the voice shouted, followed by a demand for me to stop and the car increased speed, my feet throbbing from the blisters forming inside my shoes. 

Nothing could get me to stop, even when the car pulled to the side of the road and the driver emerged from the door.  My lungs hurt from breathing so hard but I pushed myself to run without glancing over my shoulder, too afraid to come face-to-face with the stranger again and relive the horror from just nearly an hour before.

“Stop!” the voice shouted heavy and out of breath.

He was inching nearer the harder I pounded my shoes against the pavement, legs too exhausted to push any faster.  As hard as I tried to speed up, the voice grew closer, his heavy feet clobbering the ground while we ran. 

“Fuck off,” I breathed, sweat pooling down my face.

My shoes skid along the pavement when he snatched the back of my bag and pulled, my guitar falling from my hand and crashing to the ground.  I swung and kicked and shouted obscenities, flailing my arms until he stepped off with his hands held up in front of him in defense.  I was too consumed with fear and anger to stop and see that it wasn’t the stranger from the car, but the barman from the pub.

“You stole my money,” he panted, dodging my swinging arms before I stopped and settled down.  “Hand it over and I won’t have to involve the police.”

I shook my head, denying his claim before I fixed my bag over my back and pulled down my hoodie.  He stared dead into my eyes and though I didn’t want to admit to stealing the money, it was clear that he’d seen what I’d done.  Each of us steadied our breathing.

“I need it,” I told him.  “I’m sorry I took it, but I can’t give it back.  I need it to get home.”

His eyes trailed from mine and down, giving me a good look.  I shivered under his glare, unsure of what he would do to me to get what he wanted. 

Through a heavy sigh he dropped his hand and shook his head, glancing over his shoulder toward his parked car still running, smoke bellowing out the back end.

“Just let me keep it and I swear I’ll replace it when I can.”

Out of caution, I took another step back, and he wiped his hands over his face.  If I’d had the energy to run, I would have.

“Where are you staying?” he asked suddenly, his hands placed at his hips.

All I could do was shake my head and not give him an answer, as I didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to say on the matter. 

“I figured,” he trailed.  “You’re a runaway, yeah?”

Though he was right in his assumption, I just shrugged my shoulders and glanced down at my feet.  With another strong exhale, he checked the time on his watch and looked back toward his car.

“I’ll make you a deal, lad,” he started and I stood my ground, clutching the straps of my bag.  “You can keep the twenty pounds, but we both know it’s not enough to get you a bus ticket to anywhere worth going to.”

I kept quiet, shivering from the cold and trying to sniffle through my numb nose.

“So why don’t you come back to the pub and we’ll sort something out?”

There were warning signals flaring in my mind at his words, and I shook my head, still in silence.

“So, what? You’ll spend the rest of the night on the streets then?”

He seemed concerned, but I couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t hurt me, or do something worse.  After a break of silence, he shook his head at the state of me, probably noticing my dirty fingernails and clothes that desperately needed washing, aside from my overgrown hair which could’ve used some soap as well.

“I’ve seen it all, kid,” he said, “you’re not the first to stumble in my pub.”

“I have a rule about taking offers from people I don’t know.”

He tucked his arms over his chest to block the wind that came through, seeming to understand what I’d said through a nod.

“I can’t let you stay out here in this cold,” he said, shivering under the breeze, “fuck sake you can sleep in my car if need be.”

I pulled my hood over my head and bent to pick up the guitar, the wood rattling in the case when I lifted it.  It was clear that he wasn’t taking no for an answer, and as afraid as I was about taking any sort of offer, part of me figured I didn’t have much to lose.  Nothing was going right as it was, and as the cold wind bit at my exposed skin, I had to trust that I’d made the right choice.  I stepped to walk away in the opposite direction of him until he pulled his phone from his pocket and threatened to phone the police. 

“I’ll walk,” I said  when I brushed past him toward his car.

He followed behind, quickening his pace to get out of the cold.  He plopped down in the driver side and leaned forward to turn the heat a bit higher, rubbing his hands together to warm them.  I kept walking toward the pub, and he drove slow at my pace right alongside me.

He cracked the window after almost five straight minutes of following me.

“Just get in, kid,” he said, probably finding my stubbornness ridiculous, but I wasn’t keen on taking any more chances.

I shook from the cold, my thighs and face burning from the blistering wind.  It was impossible to keep the heat in while I walked.  I refused his offer, even after the third time he asked, and thankfully to my relief, the pub was inching closer.  I picked up my pace, desperate to get out of the cold and into any kind of heating.

I kept a distance when he unlocked the door and hurried inside, inviting me in before slamming the door shut and locking it behind us.

“Bloody Christ you’re mental,” he said, shivering from just the short walk to the door.

I wiped my nose on my sleeve and set down my guitar when he flicked on the lights.

“I live just above here, but I saw you take off with my money and I followed you out,” he said, walking to the back of the bar.

Still a part of me was apprehensive about trusting him, so I stayed at a safe distance away and hardly spoke.  He reached behind the counter and retrieved a glass.

“I have open mic nights here,” he said, filling the glass with water from the tap, “ I assume you play that guitar, so I’m willing to offer you a spot to earn a bit more money to get your ticket home, and work off that twenty pounds you stole.”

He slid the glass of water against the bar and gestured for me to take it. 

I didn’t move from my spot by the door.

“Look,” he started, coming out from behind the bar and took a seat beside the glass of water, “it’s not poisoned for Christ’s sake.  Drink, you look as if you need it.”

Though I tried to fight the dryness in my throat, just the sight of it made my tongue swipe over my cracked lips.  Putting the fear and stubbornness aside, I took the glass and sat a few seats away, guzzling it back until I was close to running out of breath.

“How long have you been out on your own?”

I ignored his question and finished off the water, wiping my mouth and chin on my hoodie sleeve.  He grew annoyed with my silence and stood from the stool before he disappeared behind a swinging door far down to the left.  I glanced around the bar, noting how homey it felt.  It was small with vinyl records decorating the walls, and I squinted to try and make out the autographs on a select few, but my eyesight was horrid without my glasses.

“You can keep quiet all you’d like,” he said, returning from the swinging door with a wrapped sandwich, “but I’ll just keep prodding until I get something from you.”

He went around the counter and opened the clear wrapping and stuck the sandwich on a white napkin before sliding it toward me.  My stomach twisted at the sight of it, since it’d been almost two days since I’d properly eaten.

“Name’s Stuart, by the way,” he said, leaning back against the farthest counter across from me, his arms folded over his chest, “not that you cared to ask, but.”

Without any further hesitation, I grabbed the sandwich and sunk my teeth in, my taste buds zinging to life the second it hit my tongue.

“Ed,” I told him, my mouth full and hands still shaking from a combination of the cold and the apparent hunger gnawing at my insides.


	8. Closure

**_Madison:_ **

 

The last time I heard from Ed he told me he missed me, and though he always responded to my messages, I never got a reply the following morning when I said I missed him back. After a few hours with no answer from him, I brushed it off and carried on with my day at school.

But every hour, in every class, I checked my phone for any reply from Ed, but one never came. After a week, I lost sleep over him, going back through our messages over and over to look for some kind of clue that would lead me to the answer I might have been avoiding. I'd called him close to once an hour and each time his voicemail picked up without even a first ring. 

I did everything in my power to track him down or find out if he was alright. I'd dialed his home number in my search for answers and though the first couple times no one had ever picked up, I kept at it, punching the keys and hoping to hear his voice on the other end. Ten full days passed, but I couldn't find it in me to just give up.

For the handful of times I'd dialed the number and didn't receive an answer, I wouldn't have known what to expect or what to say when someone did finally pick up. With the phone in my hand on that eleventh day, I promised myself it would be the last time. 

Two rings, and then three, and in the middle of the fourth a click made my heart pause in my chest when a male voice came through.

To my disappointment, it wasn't Ed, but his father, and as relieved as I'd been to hear a voice on the other side, a flood of anger and resentment poured through my veins. For the times Ed shared his darkest secrets with me and for all the bruises I'd witnessed on his pale skin, I wanted to explode and vent every bit of anger into the phone, but deep down I knew it would draw him away and prevent me from finding the answers I needed.

"He left," was all he said when I asked if he'd known where Ed had gone.

My mouth hung parted while I waited for him to continue or tell me something I wanted to hear, but he just kept silent, his breath lingering against my ear.

"How can you just accept that?" I spat, my heart racing in my throat. "He's your son. How do you know he's not hurt? Don't you even care?"

My questions went unanswered when he hung up. I threw the phone against my bed and let out the pent up anger in an audible shout from low in my throat. It felt as if I'd hit a brick wall, almost as if it was Ed's way of telling me to move on and just put what he had, or what I thought we had, behind me. 

Still with a little bit of hope I sent him a message the next morning. It wasn't a plea or request for reconciliation. I didn't vent through words on the screen or tell him something I might regret. Instead of any of that, I told him I loved him, my chin trembling with each word and vision distorted by the time I hit send. 

Moving on was hard. I kept the necklace he made for me around my neck as a constant reminder of not only him, but us. It stung each time I looked down and the little misshapen heart pendant was there against my chest, dangling empty and lonely. I took the stone in my palm and closed my eyes, seeing his vibrant blue irises with streaks of orange hair falling in them the way I'd grown so accustomed to. 

With the figurative flip of a switch, he wasn't familiar to me anymore. I missed the sound of his voice and the way his eyes would complement his wide grin, those spacey teeth showing when he smiled. I missed the freckles on his skin and the birthmark by his eye and even that snowflake-shaped scar etched into his bottom lip. I missed our late night chats and talking him into going to class when it was obvious that he wouldn't.

Two weeks after I hadn't heard from him I didn't feel sad anymore. I tucked the necklace away in an old tattered shoe box and with the seal of the lid what we had was left to collect dust in the dark behind my closet doors. 

For the time I'd known Ed I couldn't help but feel as if I'd saved him in some way, as silly as it might sound. I didn't need saving, and even though he swore up and down he didn't either, I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me that he was thankful that we'd met and that I'd given him a chance when no one else would. Maybe even without my encouragement and support he'd go and do great things on his own, or maybe I was just looking for a reason for him to come back. Maybe if he didn't have support from anyone else, either here or wherever he was, he would find his way home to me. And maybe it was selfish to think in such a way, but I would've done just about anything to have him back, even if it was just for one more day.

My mother setup a job for me after she grew worried with how I'd been so distant. She'd talked me through Ed's so-called disappearance, trying to make me feel better by saying he wasn't good enough for me, but it didn't change anything. I still felt angry. I still felt sad. Without giving me much of an option, she lined up the work for me at my uncle's restaurant. I hoped it would help take my mind off of Ed and give me a chance at making new friends, so I took it without argument. 

Three hours into my first shift I'd taken a total of three orders wrong and dropped a plate of food on the floor, although most of it splattered on my pants. Kate was unlucky enough to show me the ropes. I took to her quite well, which surprised me a bit, since I'd never had much luck with making new friends or keeping them. After I dropped the plate she didn't hesitate crouching down to help me, and just that was enough to ease the nerves. Watching her made the job seem easy, but once she let me start doing it myself with her by my side, I understood that being a waitress was a lot harder than it looked.

"You're doing fine, Madison, don't stress yourself out," Kate whispered, just after a customer had given me a hard time about not refilling his drink fast enough.

I didn't believe her, even if I smiled and nodded, I was hiding the temptation to explode in tears and run screaming out the back door.

"I probably smell like old cheese," I scoffed, scrubbing the bottom leg of my black slacks with a wet paper towel. 

"Just wait until it's eight hours in on a Saturday night, that's when your clothes really start emitting some interesting smells."

Kate was around my age, seventeen, and she always wore her wavy caramel blonde hair up in a ponytail that looked messy but you could tell she spent a lot of time on the loose strands surrounding her face, unless it came natural, which I found a little hard to believe. I liked her company and was thankful that she was the one chosen to train me for the job, and I was grateful that she had patience with me, no matter how many times I screwed up that first day.

After our second shift we walked out together and I fished into my back pocket for my phone. Halfway through I felt it buzz but was too afraid to check, given that it was my first day on the job. My mother had called and left a message to tell me she had to stay late at work and couldn't pick me up. I sighed against the phone before cutting the voicemail short and shoving it back in my pocket.

Walking wasn't an option.

"I know we basically just met," I started, hoping Kate was paying attention while she tapped away at her own phone, "but my mother's stuck working late, do you think you could give me a ride home?"

***

"So what do you think so far?"

I looked to Kate, her gaze switching from me to the road and back again as she asked the question.

"It's okay," I shrugged, even if I hated every torturous second working as a waitress.

"It'll get better. I mean, you'll get used to it at least," she almost laughed, "you'll start to remember what's on the menu and certain people who always come in. Especially the assholes."

She said the last bit with her finger aimed at me, her perfectly arched brows angled up above her brown eyes.

"Oh I'm sure I'll remember the assholes."

The car ride was remotely silent with the exception of our short conversation. She tapped at the steering wheel with her thumbs, and the air between us gaining a bit of weight from when I'd first got in the car. 

Kate cleared her throat.

"I meant to tell you, but Friday after work Rob invited people over, if you wanted to come."

Rob was another waiter at the restaurant. I'd only met him once on the first day I'd worked, and it was hardly an introduction as he was leaving when I was heading in. He struck me as one of the popular kids at school, and honestly, so did Kate. It was hard not to notice how cute he was rushing out of the restaurant in his black slacks and matching polo shirt, his brown hair expertly styled with just the right amount of product, so that it stayed in place, but didn't look to be gelled down. 

"Are you and him...like, a thing?"

Kate sighed and gave a little shrug.

"Sort of, I guess," she said, tucking a piece of loose hair off her face, "we went out once. It's complicated."

She didn't have to say anything else for me to understand that she was saying he was off limits to me, or anyone else. It wouldn't be a problem either way, since getting my heart shattered by another boy was the very last thing on my mind.

"What about you? What's your story?"

I laughed a bit, bringing my hand up to my chest to be sure she was asking me, "me? My story?"

Kate nodded happily, a bright smile showing.

"Oh come on, I can tell there's someone. Or was someone. I'm really good at detecting that kind of thing."

"We weren't together long," I said flatly.

"If you don't feel comfortable talking about it, you don't have to," she said.

There was a pause between both of us when she slowed to a stop light.

"It's not that I don't feel comfortable talking about it, it's just, kind of new."

She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

"He's an asshole," I mumbled, somehow finding myself unable to stop the words. It was the first time I'd spoken to someone other than my mother about him in such a way. It felt good.

"He left a month ago and I haven't heard from him in two weeks. He kind of," I trailed, carrying on even if Kate didn't care to hear the details, "he was so sweet and just, fun, you know? And then he told me he needed to leave to go to London, and stupid, naïve me thought, 'oh, he'll come back', and it was hard at first and I was sad about it but we kept in touch, and then," I gestured with my hands and a little 'poof' that'd he'd disappeared like some terrible magic trick, "he was gone. Didn't answer my texts or my calls. I called his house, and his dad's a piece of shit who'd rather suck down a bottle of booze than hug his own son, so he's worthless, didn't even give a shit that his kid left."

I couldn't stop. I went on and on and told Kate everything. It just came out and I hardly breathed between sentences, but she listened to every word that tumbled from my throat. They seared on the way out and as much as it burned in my chest and the memories pricked at the back of my eyes, I wiped the stray tears and carried on, letting out everything I'd bottled up for the past two weeks.

"Wait," Kate said, stopping me mid-sentence, "you mean to tell me he slept with you, and then...told you he was leaving the next morning?"

She had her eyes lowered and her mouth hung open in shock just a bit. I'd told her too much, I thought.

I kept quiet, wiping my eyes before sucking in so much air it hurt my chest.

"I know he didn't mean it to happen the way it did."

We'd already arrived at my house, but we sat parked out front, Kate turning to face me while I spilled my heart out all over the console.

"Madison. Forget him," she said, "that's seriously fucked up that he would do that to you, you know that, right?"

Silence again. I had thought about it more than I cared to admit, but beneath the anger and the hurt, I loved him too much to notice, or even care at the time. I wanted it just as much as he probably did, and as if it mattered, I blurted to Kate that I initiated the whole thing that night he showed up at my window, broken and bruised.

"That doesn't matter," she said before a pause. I shifted in my seat when she just kept her eyes on me. "I mean, his home life is seriously messed up, but that's no excuse to take advantage of you, Madison." 

She sighed, probably trying to put herself in my shoes, "Jesus, I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that."

I shrugged my shoulders, "It's okay. We were in love, you know?"

She nodded before giving my leg a gentle pat, "Come to Rob's on Friday night. I think you need to take your mind off things. Off that asshole."

Through the tears stuck in the back of my throat, I laughed and wiped my eyes on the back of my hand. I hadn't planned on opening up to Kate as much as I had, especially so early in our friendship.

"Okay," I said, "thanks for talking. I guess I needed to get that off my chest."

She just smiled when I reached for the door handle.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime, Madison," she said, and from that moment on, I knew I had the strength to let go.


	9. Chances

\- Ed -

 

After being on my own for a month and already having my luck stretched beyond its existence, I couldn't help but put myself in an alternate universe where I just went home. As much as I didn't want to, I wanted to have somewhere to go, somewhere with a roof and heat. I wanted to shower and wear fresh clothes from my wardrobe. I wanted to climb under the blankets and sleep for two days straight in my single bed, even if the mattress was lumpy. 

 

I stared blankly ahead at the space between where Stuart was leaning against the counter in the pub, the side of his blue jeans and the brown cabinet in my line of vision and the sandwich he'd given me still half eaten in my hand. Frozen was an understatement for what I was after he'd gone and offered me his sofa to spend the night on. Part of me wanted to drop everything and take off out the door, but the bit that was still sat on the stool wanted something different.

 

"Well?" Stuart's voice snatched me from my own thoughts and I glanced up at him standing there against the counter, his arms folded over his solid blue jumper. 

 

My mouth wanted to form words but all I could think was how stupid I was. How irresponsible it was for me to even consider leaving home and being able to be out on my own and make it, and how downright terrified it felt being left to fend for myself after the incident in the car. It was still so fresh in mind, sitting there behind my eyelids and on my skin and I cringed while I chewed, wondering what made Stuart any different from the fucking filth of a man that had me pinned beneath him on the leather seat in his car.

 

It seemed like such a simple thing to say you're tired and have a bed to go to. My bed, as of late, has consisted of cold cement grounds, park benches, and bus seats so turning down a solid place to sleep outside the elements seemed to be inconceivable after the way I'd been living.

 

"It's okay to say yes," he reassured me, "I promise nothing bad will come of it. You have my word, Ed."

 

"Why should I trust you?"

 

Stuart aimed a finger at his own chest, his eyebrows rising at my question. 

 

"Me? Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"

 

I shook my head and he let his hand lower before he glanced behind me at the window. His eyes were fixed on the window and I turned my head as well, seeing that snow had started to fall again, the flakes drifting down to the pavement and glowing orange in the light.

 

"I've got a girlfriend who lives with me, if that makes you feel a bit better," he continued and I snapped my head back toward him, "She's always having a go at me for bringing lads like you around but I figure it's worth it if you don't have to spend the night on the street."

 

Stuart had the kind of look in his eye that told me that not only did he know some of my story, he understood it. He'd mentioned seeing the likes of me before and I had to admit the positive vibe I'd been getting from him was far more than I could say about the stranger who'd picked me up on the side of the road. I sat for a bit in silence, hoping that time my instincts were correct in allowing me to trust him and before I could weigh the pros and cons I just swallowed back the last of my pride and nodded slowly. 

 

With a smile he offered to clear the sandwich since I hadn't taken another bite and I thanked him, slowly standing to gather my things. 

The walk up to his flat was a straight wooden staircase behind a locked door at the back of the pub's small kitchen and my heart pounded the further up we climbed. I was more alert than ever, keeping my eyes on his hands and staying two or three steps behind him.

 

"Hope you don't mind cats," he told me, unlocking the door before gently pushing it open, "I've got two."

 

I shook my head, wanting to blurt how much I loved them, but kept quiet. 

When I was young, around six or so, I'd found a stray in the garden. He would hang around my father's shed but would run off if I got too close. 

Eventually I tried to earn his trust with a bit of milk or scraps of meat from my own dinner plate that I'd hide in my pocket. 

 

One night during dinner I did just that with a few pieces of chicken, careful to do so when my parents weren't paying any attention. Since it was summer and still light out my mother allowed me outside to play and I ran out toward the shed where I knew the cat would be. 

 

"S'alright," I said once I'd lured him out, kneeling down in the wet grass with my hand full of chicken outstretched. My oversized glasses were slipping down my nose but I just let them, not wanting to make any sudden movements and scare him off.

 

The orange cat turned up his nose, sniffing the air between us, and before he could sneak a lick or a bite, I was caught.

 

"Edward Christopher Sheeran!" my father shouted from the door when he damn near kicked it open, sending the cat off and scrambling fast behind the shed. My hands snapped back and the meat fell to the dirt before I hurried to my feet and pushed my glasses up my nose. I knew he'd already seen the offering, but I still whipped my hands behind my back to hide them. 

He'd told me more times than I cared to admit to not feed the strays, but I still attempted it, and though getting caught was always a possibility, I figured it'd be worth it to earn the cat's trust. 

 

My mother was fond of animals, she was always trying to save birds that'd hit the windows or the house, and sometimes when she thought no one was watching, I would catch her tossing the same orange cat leftovers. A few times I'd asked her about it but she would only tell me it was a one-time thing and to keep quiet about it. 

Really, it was just my father who didn't want the strays around. He claimed they stunk up his garden from all the piss. He wasn't wrong, I guess, but I didn't mind either way. 

 

Stuart stepped inside and flicked on the light and I although cautiously, I followed. He gently closed and locked the door once I made my way in and I kept my eyes on his hands, unable to stop myself from flinching when he gestured toward the sofa.

 

"This is clearly the front room," he said and walked further into the flat, his shoes thudding against the hardwood floors. 

 

It was small inside but homey. The brown sofa was facing me but pushed further to the right with a television straight across against the wall. I'd noticed a framed photo of Stuart with a brunette propped up on the wooden stand below, and I assumed she was the girlfriend he'd told me about. She was pretty, and although I didn't know her or Stuart very well, I could sense that they were good people.

 

On the sofa laid a brown and black striped cat all curled up and I fought the urge to go over and run my hand through its soft fur.

 

"That one's called Stanley," Stuart said, reaching down to give the cat a pet, "he's claimed the sofa, but I'm quite sure he won't mind some company. Suki's the other, but he's in our room."

 

He straightened up, gesturing toward me, "You can put your things down, you know."

 

I felt more comfortable standing closest to the exit, although once I'd seen the cat a part of me sort of felt better. 

Though my hands were shaking I carefully set down my guitar case and took a step forward, keeping my bag on just in case I'd need to make a run for it.

 

"I'll show you the rest of the flat," Stuart continued, waving me toward the other side straight ahead where it looked to be where the kitchen was.

 

I swallowed hard and found the courage to push forward, my eyes darting from left and right and all around with each step. A large artwork on canvas was hung up on the wall between the kitchen and front room, and my mother's face flashed in my mind. She loved art more than anything and though I despised it the nights she was stuck working late, I knew how much it meant to her. Once I got a bit older I decided I would put up with my drunken father if it meant I could see her light up when she'd sit me down to talk about the paintings.

 

"Kitchen," he said, keeping his voice a bit low before he popped open the fridge, "help yourself to anything if you're hungry or thirsty. Just no booze, please."

 

It was strange to me how he was acting as if he'd known me for ages, when in reality we'd only just met two or so hours before. I wanted so badly to trust him but I couldn't let my guard down. He was giving me a tour as if he could trust me as well, and even that made me a bit uneasy.

 

"Why are you doing this?" I blurted once he closed the fridge door.

 

He shrugged when he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

 

"Because I reckon you need a bit of hospitality," he said plainly, as if I should've known the answer.

 

"But you hardly know me. How can you trust me?"

 

He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

 

"I'm a firm believer in giving people a chance," he started, leaning against the counter behind him. 

 

The room fell silent for a moment before he took in a long breath, and though he kept his voice down, probably to not wake his girlfriend, he carried on talking.

 

"Two years ago a young lad, probably a bit younger than you showed up in my pub, almost around the same time of night as you did actually. He was in pretty rough shape," he used his hand to talk when he gestured toward his face, "had a bruise under his eye, split lip, you know. And he came in and just stood at the back, not speaking a single word or making any sort of movement."

 

Stuart adjusted his arms in front of him and continued, "I kept my eye on him, just let him sit at one of the empty tables until the place cleared out. He was easier to talk to than you were, I'll say that," he smirked a bit and the tone in his voice took away some of the nerves pumping through my veins. 

"He told me his mum passed just a few months before and his old man turned to the bottle."

 

I shifted my feet, but kept quiet.

 

"He said his dad blamed him for his wife's death, so he took it out on him, and I couldn't for the life of me understand how a father could think to treat his own child that way. He said he'd walked for an hour before finding my pub, after he made it out of his house."

 

The air in the room felt heavy, and as uncomfortable as it was to stand and listen to what he was saying, I absorbed every word.

 

"They had an accident," Stuart said, "the kid and his mum. A drunk driver hit them on the way home from his football game, and that was it. He spent a solid week in hospital, broke a few ribs, got banged up pretty bad, but his mother wasn't so lucky. Turned out she'd hit her head too hard. She'd had internal bleeding and died right there in the car beside her son."

 

Shivers ran up my spine at the horrible story, but still I listened, hardly blinking an eye.

 

"So, before he left I gave him a meal and threw him a few pounds to get himself home."

 

Stuart paused for a moment and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, catching my eye before I could look away.

 

"He left at nearly four in the morning, and every day from that point out I thought of him. I couldn't get the lad's story out of my head and it drove me mad," he said, using his hands to show the frustration inside his head, "and he came back a week later, banged up and bruised just the same as before. I welcomed him in of course, offered him something to eat and a drink, and he took it. That night, he asked me if he could spend the night, said things at home had gotten real bad."

 

Stuart sighed and glanced down at his feet, "I said no. I told him how sorry I was that I couldn't offer him to stay and his face just fell. He went white and just nodded. He understood that I couldn't invite a stranger into my flat, but I offered to ring the police to help him out, but he was too afraid. Just as I'd done before I gave him enough for a ticket home and I felt uneasy the rest of the week. I regretted telling him no, it ate away at me, no matter how many people told me it wasn't my responsibility to take him in and help him out."

 

After a break of silence, Stuart shook his head, bringing his right hand up to lean his cheek against his palm.

 

"He died a week later."

 

My stomach dropped to my feet while Stuart kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

 

"I wouldn't have known if one of my regular's didn't keep up with the news. He came in with the paper and pointed to the photograph printed inside, asking if he was the kid who'd shown up late at night since we'd seen and spoke of him often. I swear to you my stomach fell straight to my shoes. His father got completely pissed and took out his anger again, but that time was too much. He beat him into a coma and left him lifeless."

 

Stuart angrily wiped his face while he shook his head roughly.

 

"To this day, I can't forgive myself. Every time I see a young lad like him, or like you, I can't turn them away. I can't stand to think of the same awful outcome. I won't let a thing like it happen again."

 

I was standing so still I thought my shoes were cemented to the tile. I could hardly believe my ears after he'd told me the heartbreaking story, and I couldn't help but shiver at the thought of ending up the same. 

 

"I'm so sorry," I told him, unsure of what else to say. 

 

Stuart shrugged and wiped his face again before clearing his throat. For a minute I thought he had tears in his eyes.

 

"S'alright," he said, suddenly trying to change the subject by carrying on the tour of his flat, "the washroom's behind you, feel free to shower, I'll leave a fresh towel out for you."

 

He walked past me toward the right where he opened a small closet door and pulled out a blanket and a pillow.

 

"I'll just set these out on the sofa for you."

 

I nodded and muttered a thanks and before he sauntered off toward the front room, he turned on his heel, the blanket and pillow resting neatly in front of him, "I didn't mean to go into details, I'm sorry if it was too much."

 

"It's okay," I said and he nodded lightly, a small smile tucked in his lips before he disappeared.

 

*

 

Stuart didn't say much else before he said goodnight and went to his bedroom, which was just off the front room. I sat down next to Stanley and slowly reached to scratch behind his brown ears. I smiled when he purred.

 

I sat there for a bit, finally catching a glance of the time on the clock next to the framed photo of Stuart and the nameless brunette. The sun would be rising soon and as much as I wanted to find comfort in the offer, I was too afraid to do anything but sit there quietly. I wondered what his girlfriend would think when she'd walk into the room and see a dirty ginger curled up on the sofa beside the cat.

 

The fear of the unknown practically paralyzed me, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn't settle down and sleep on the sofa without worrying what would happen if I closed my eyes. I feared the worst so instead of taking any chances I pushed up off the sofa and grabbed my rucksack and guitar case, gathering the pillow and blanket Stuart left under my free arm. Slowly I went toward the kitchen where I remembered the bathroom was and once I crept inside and flicked on the light I shut the door gently and locked it. 

 

The bathtub and shower was straight across from the door and the toilet was snug on its right beside it, a tiny porcelain pedestal sink pulling it all together on my right. I avoided the mirror and though I itched for a shower, I felt it would be too loud so I set the pillow down on the far left edge of the bathtub and climbed inside, covering myself up tightly with the blanket while I curled up on my right side facing the door. 

It hadn't been the first time I'd slept in a bathtub, and though I much would've preferred the soft sofa cushions, I was far too afraid that something bad might happen the second I'd drift off to sleep. 

 

Leaving the light on gave me a bit of comfort and with my eyes fixed on the shut wooden door, they slowly began to close. 

For the first time in a while, I felt safe.


	10. Safe

Ed

 

Three hard knocks on the bathroom door jolted me awake. My back was stiff from the hard surface and after another loud bang against the wood I pushed myself up, squinting at the bright bathroom light.

"You've got until the count of three to open this door," my father snapped.

I felt paralyzed sitting there under the blanket after I'd come to and realized the gravity of the situation. My breathing picked up with each firm thump at the door and I pressed my hands over my ears, wishing all the noise away.

"Ed!" The voice boomed, and I flinched.

My eyes opened and I kept them fixed on the white door, slowly peeling my palms away from my ears. Another knock came and once I blinked, I realized I was still in Stuart's bathroom after having fallen asleep the night before tucked away in the bathtub. The angry voice hadn't sounded like Stuart and I strained my ears, waiting for him to say something else.

From past experience I knew that sleeping in the bathroom had its ups and downs. Sometimes when I was younger I'd take to staying there when my father would go off and drink himself stupid. I'd hide from his wrath until he exhausted himself trying to get me to come out. Most of the time I'd get away unscathed, but sometimes it'd just make him angrier and he'd kick the door open, and those nights were especially bad.

The room fell silent and I listened, cautiously making my way over the edge of the tub. My socked feet thudded the cool tile the closer I went toward the door, fear settling itself heavy in my gut with each step. With my palms flat beside my head I pressed my ear to the cool wood.

My heart skipped a beat when the knocking came again and I stumbled back, making it halfway back to the bathtub when his knuckles clapped on the wood three more times.

"Ed? Are you alright, mate?"

I rubbed my eyes once I'd heard Stuart's voice, my heart hammering behind my ribs.

"I-I'm not coming out," I managed to speak.

"You've nothing to be afraid of."

I shook my head as if he could see, confused as to why and how I'd heard my father. It felt and sounded too real to be strictly inside my brain.

"I'm not coming out until he leaves."

The room fell quiet and though internally I was praying to be kept safe, I knew from experience that it took more than a silent prayer to keep my father away.

"Ed?" I heard again but this time the voice was female, "it's Libby. Stuart's girlfriend. He's left the room now, so why don't you come out? I've made tea."

Confusion worked its way over the fear inside me and I glanced around again, taking in my surroundings.

"Where's my dad?" I asked quickly, too afraid to take any chances.

Silence again.

I rubbed my eyes and took a long breath in.

"It's just the two of us here, Ed, you're safe," Stuart said.

The second I heard his voice I wanted to dig a hole through the tile and disappear. I hadn't planned on revealing my problems to him and even if I had, I wouldn't have let it slip out the way I'd just done, and I sure as hell didn't want him to know I'd slept in the bathtub.

"Come on out, yeah?" He spoke softly and even though I wanted to stay hidden due to embarrassment, I cautiously climbed over the edge and hiked up my dirty jeans.

"Sorry," I said quietly once I'd slowly opened the door.

"S'alright. Come on then."

I felt my face flush with embarrassment as I stepped into the kitchen. My hair was sticking up in every which way and my clothes were filthy. I knew I looked and probably smelled horrible.

"Hi," the brunette spoke, "I'm Libby."

She had a bright smile carved over her mouth and she leaned forward over the island counter facing me to slide two steaming mugs across.

"I wasn't sure if you liked coffee or tea in the mornings, so I made both," she tucked her loose hair behind her ear and gestured toward them.

"T-thanks," I managed, opting for the coffee, while Stuart joined Libby behind the opposite counter.

"Stuart's always bringing people round."

With a smile he pulled open the fridge and took out the milk, "Yeah well you bring in all the stray cats so I reckon we're even."

I felt awkward just standing there listening as if they were two long lost friends I'd just been reintroduced to. It was difficult trying to fit into the conversation as if I belonged, so I just gave Stuart a small smile and stepped closer to add a bit of milk to my coffee. Libby smiled and offered to fix me something to eat but I politely declined her offer, even though my stomach grumbled.

"Do you mind if I have a shower?" I blurted, wanting any excuse to escape the awkwardness in the room.

"Of course not," she said, rushing over to the small closet Stuart had showed me the night before. She took out a white towel and a wash cloth and handed them to me. "Stuart honey why don't you show him the controls? People always have trouble with the thing."

I shook my head, not wanting him to find the blanket and pillow, but Stuart stepped through the door anyway.

"It's okay," he said quietly after he'd lifted both out and started the shower. "You've nothing to be ashamed of."

He held them in his arms and looked over at my rucksack on the floor. I knew what he was thinking, it was almost pouring off him strictly by the way he was darting his eyes from my bag and back to me.

"Have you got fresh clothes?"

When I didn't say anything he told me to wait and turned and left.

The shower was steaming up the bathroom and even just the heat was comforting. I couldn't wait to step under the water. Stuart returned not long after and he wore a smile on his mouth, one that I understood was genuine. He'd come back with a clean clothes for me and his generosity flooded my chest and sent a stinging behind my eyes.

"They'll be a bit big since I'm obviously not your size but it'll do for now. And don't worry about the boxers, they're not mine. Well," he trailed, raising his dark eyebrows, "they are mine. Libby bought them in a package that were too small...they're unused is what I'm trying to say."

He held out the pile to me with a cracked smile and I fought the urge to just break down right there in front of him. I couldn't understand why he was being so kind to me or what made him not want to shout at me for sleeping in his bathroom. Although I knew he wouldn't hit me, I still flinched when he handed me the clothes.

"Well go on then," he said, leaving the bathroom and gently sealing the door closed.

I muttered a thanks under my breath, half in shock, even though I knew he couldn't hear it when I locked the door.

It'd been a month since I'd been under an actual shower and there isn't a proper word to describe how it felt. The warm water soothed my tired body, washing away all the dirt and the grime of the outdoors and my own sweat. Soap had never smelled so incredible and I lathered up the white washcloth and scrubbed until my skin turned red.

When I tilted my head back and let the water rinse away the suds from my hair, Madison ran through my mind. Her bright smile flashed behind my eyes and I didn't want to open them and let her fade away like the soap down the drain.

I wondered if she missed me and how she was and I felt a tremendous amount of guilt weigh down on my shoulders once I'd realized how long it'd been since I'd heard her voice. The necklace I'd made the night before I left was still snug around my neck and I felt it there just under the dip in my throat, still tight around my skin with all the promises I'd meant to keep. I hoped she was still wearing hers.

Though I didn't want the shower to end I finished rinsing off and quickly towel dried. I wrapped the white towel around my waist and went to the clothes Stuart had generously left for me. It might seem odd but the first thing I did was lift the shirt to my face and inhale. It'd been a long time since I smelled a clean shirt and I'm not embarrassed to admit I'd cautiously smelled the boxers as well.

Stuart was right, they were about two sizes too big but I'd take cleanliness over them fitting properly. As I dressed I noticed it was the first time in years I hadn't seen any bruises or fading ones anywhere. There was nothing visible on my arms from where I'd been punched, not a scratch on my legs or yellowed bruises on my stomach. No marks or welts scattered across my back. All I could see was my pale freckled skin, and for the first time in a long time, I smiled at it.

"Thanks Stuart," I said once I'd seen him in the kitchen, "I meant to say it before but I was a bit overwhelmed."

He nodded and went to the same closet where the towel had come. I hadn't noticed the washing machine tucked away inside it before then.

"It's the least I could do. Sorry I didn't have anything a bit...smaller." He wanted to laugh but just gestured to me holding the pants up with my free hand and told me to toss in my dirty things.

"I know I've done nothing but ask for favors, but could I use your phone? There's someone I need to let know I'm alright."

Stuart didn't hesitate and he went to the counter where a handheld phone was on its charging base. I thanked him again and he left the room to give me a bit of privacy.

I was nervous to dial the number. With my thumb hovering over the button I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to think of what I'd say if there happened to be answer. After two rings I swallowed my own heartbeat, my hand starting to tremble beside my ear. My bare feet felt numb against the cold kitchen floor.

"Hello?" a male voice answered.

I stood with my mouth open, and before I could panic and hang up, I forced myself to speak.

"H-hi, Mr. Cavanaugh. It's uh, hi it's Ed. Ed Sheeran," I stuttered pathetically, "is Madison there?"

There was a pause on the other end before I heard a heavy sigh and I braced myself for whatever was about to come spewing from his mouth. I'd only met her father a handful of times and I could tell he hadn't cared for me much. Madison tried to tell me that he liked me, but I could tell by the way he looked up at me from his coffee mug the first day we'd met he knew I was trouble.

"You listen to me," he started and I froze, "you stay away from my daughter. She doesn't want to see you. She doesn't want to hear from you. I promise you the last time you saw her was the very last time. Do you understand?"

He was stern as he spoke and it sent a flurry of fear and anger running through my veins. A piece of my heart broke when he said Madison didn't want to see me or hear from me and I knew it was my own fault. I'd lost contact with her when I promised her I wouldn't. I was the one who left in the first place and hadn't made any sort of effort to call her up.

"I-I just want her to know that I'm okay. Is she okay?"

"Don't call here again."

The line went dead in my ear and I stayed put with it held to my face, staring ahead at the counter where my coffee had surely gone cold. The sting behind my eyes matched the feeling under my ribs and I slowly pulled the phone away from my ear, feeling my throat close once I finally hung it up.

Stanley startled me when he cried and rubbed his arched back against my calf. I looked down at the cat running between my legs, marking his scent around my ankles and purring loudly whilst he did it.

"He likes you," Stuart caught me off guard when I'd bent to pet him.

I ran my fingers behind his ears and he squinted up at me, purring with his mouth parted a bit, "He seems to be the only one."

"I've always been a dog person myself, but Libby's sort of got me into cats," he said as he walked to the fridge. "And I know you were just being polite when she was here, too. So I'll fix us something to eat."

He reached in for the carton of eggs and set them down on the counter.

"It's strange being here I know," he continued, turning around to take a mixing bowl from a cabinet, "but I don't want you to feel as if you can't eat when you're hungry."

We shared a bit of light conversation over the scrambled eggs and I told him a little about Madison and what I'd left behind. I knew he'd gathered enough from the bathroom incident so he didn't ask about my home life and I didn't offer to speak of it.

By the time we finished eating and I'd helped him clean the dishes, it was almost nearing noon. We'd been so wrapped up in our conversation that I hardly had a chance to think about what Madison's father had said to me on the phone. I'd brought her up briefly with Stuart but hadn't mentioned the phone call.

The worst part was knowing it was my fault and I felt terrible about not being able to speak to her. All I wanted was to know that she was okay. I knew she was strong and maybe it was selfish of me to think, but I hoped she hadn't forgotten about me. I hoped the anger she might've felt would fade when I saw her again and that we could go back to the way things were the night I left.

Stuart had to open the pub for the lunch hour and though I offered my help he practically forced me to stay at the flat and rest. Libby had gone off to work well before and though it felt weird to be alone in a strangers flat, I couldn't resist lying down with a fresh blanket and pillow on the sofa.

I'd showered and eaten and I felt like a well-cared for infant once I was curled up with Stanley sleeping against my legs. It was the longest I'd ever slept and when I finally woke up a light was glowing from the kitchen, flooding the front room.

I could hear distant conversation and the quiet clatter of cutlery and plates.

After I sat up and rubbed my eyes I looked at the time and was shocked to see that it had been a little after eight at night. I'd slept a solid eight hours and yet my body still felt tired.

I stretched my arms up and scratched the back of my hair to settle it down a bit before I yawned and stood.

"I'll go and check on him again," I heard Stuart say and I turned when he came into view and stopped in his tracks.

"Oh good," he said as if he were relieved, "I was about to check on you. You've been asleep all day."

I held the too-big pants up with one hand and glanced down at the floor. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep that long."

Stuart crossed his arms and shook his head. "You obviously needed it. I was just a bit worried is all."

The hospitality and kindness he was showing me felt so foreign and I didn't know how to react.

"Your clothes are there if you want to change," he said suddenly, gesturing toward the table where they were folded in a neat pile, "And dinner's just about ready, why don't you come and join us?"

I felt an overwhelming amount of emotion stir up inside my chest. These people had barely known me and invited me in, were clothing me and feeding me and I couldn't understand it. I was used to being shouted at. I was used to hiding away to not be seen or heard. I could hardly mutter a thanks to Stuart and once I followed him into the kitchen I couldn't comprehend the generosity both he and Libby were showing me.

I grew accustomed to my dinner being something from the microwave or sometimes nothing at all. I didn't know what it felt like to sit down for a family dinner without tension weighing down the air. I was used to sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for a smack to the back of the head or a first slamming the table. I was used to rattling plates and broken glass, empty whisky bottles and cold pasta.

"It's alright," Libby spoke when they both caught me standing frozen between the kitchen and the entrance from the front room.

I wanted to swallow the burn in my throat and blink away the stinging behind my eyes but neither would go away and with a breath in I felt my chin shake. Libby pulled out a chair where she'd already set down and filled a plate and it wasn't until her eyes flooded and she nodded toward me that I took a slow step forward and sat.

I kept quiet for the majority of dinner, since that was what I was familiar with. I'd answer Libby's questions out of respect but had a hard time opening up to her like I'd done with Stuart. She was kind and had a lovely sense of humor and I quickly understood how the two of them worked so well together. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear reminded me of Madison.

"I like your necklace," she suddenly spoke up and I lifted my eyes to hers.

"Thanks. I made it myself."

"What's it of?"

Slowly I pulled the pendant between my thumb and first finger and felt the smooth stone.

"It doesn't really look like it but it's a heart. I made it from a pebble I found."

"No, no it does look like a heart. That must've taken you a bit to carve it like that."

"My girlfriend Madison's got one as well. But I'm sure she doesn't wear hers anymore."

The table fell silent until Libby took a sip of her wine and set down the glass.

"What makes you think that?"

With a sigh I glanced up at her.

"Because I broke a promise."


	11. Not Like That

Madison

 

Sometimes it feels like I'm the only person in the world who knows what it feels like to have a broken heart. It's like I've been targeted and pinpointed and I'm standing alone in a gaping fiery hole in the earth with no way out. My mother told me it's normal to feel such a thing but she can't fully understand how it feels because her first and only love was my father and they're still as happy as ever.

Kate talked me into going to Rob's house party and though I'd much rather have spent Friday night alone in my room, I reluctantly agreed to go.

"Don't tell me you're still bummed out about your ex," she said.

I'd been quiet on the ride when she'd picked me up and when she said the words they hit me like splash of cold water.

"I've just been thinking about him a lot lately. I'm afraid something's happened to him."

Kate heard the concern in my voice and gave my leg a gentle pat.

"I'm sure he's fine, Maddie, you have to stop worrying and just try and forget him."

Nothing she could say would take away the worry. She could promise me that he was safe or that he was doing well and I still wouldn't believe it until I heard the words straight from his mouth. On the nights I couldn't sleep he would creep into my thoughts and I'd find myself dialing his number, but there was always that one single ring and the switch to his voicemail.

I'd wished that I'd had more time with Ed. We'd spent the majority of our free time sat on my bed or against the tree in the park after, or sometimes during school, but I wanted more. I had a handful of memories but it wasn't enough. About a month before he left he wanted to take me for ice cream. It was sweet the way he held my hand while we walked to the shop not far from our school, and once we'd ordered and gotten our frozen treats, his face went all red when he realized he'd forgotten his money.

I didn't think twice to pay for us but he was so embarrassed about it he could hardly look me in the eye. The only thing that got him to stop beating himself up about it was when I took a bit of ice cream and smeared it all over his nose. He nearly squealed in the middle of the shop and I was surprised we hadn't gotten kicked out when he got me back by slapping some of his against my cheek. We had handfuls of little memories like that, but still I wanted more.

Kate figured it would be in my best interest to try and drink away my heartache, but the alcohol made the feelings stronger. I wasn't the type of person to drink away my problems and it hadn't helped that it'd be my first time drinking either. While I sipped the cold beer I couldn't understand how anyone could enjoy the taste and with each swig, Ed crept back into my thoughts.

"You could say something, you know," a voice said and I snapped my head up to find the source.

Rob was sitting on the sofa with Kate under his arm. I held the beer with both hands against my lap and gave him a small shrug.

"Sorry, I'm not much of a talker."

The first thing I'd noticed about Rob was his perfect teeth. They were practically as bright and straight as the models advertising whitening products. Even if I hadn't been so awkward and quiet, I would've choked on my own words speaking to him based solely on his good looks. I could see why Kate had a thing for him. Not only was he gorgeous and surely popular, he seemed like a nice guy.

"I was just kidding," he said before he unraveled his arm from Kate and took a sip from his own beer. "So are you in university?"

"Not yet. But I want to start applying. You?"

He nodded, "I'm in my second year. Dentistry."

"Should've known," I said before thinking and he looked over at me with a confused look, "Because your teeth. Your teeth, they're," I stumbled over my words, mentally kicking myself, "They're so nice."

I could feel the flush creeping over both cheeks and I wanted to sink back into the chair and merge with the fabric.

"Thanks," he laughed and Kate nudged his arm when he chuckled.

Kate and I had been the first people at the so-called party and shortly after I embarrassed myself in front of Rob, others started to show up. I stood awkwardly next to Kate while she made conversation with pretty much everyone and I wished more than anything I had a way home. Nothing about it was appealing to me. I missed Ed. I missed the little world we shared together. I missed his humor and how we'd both rather sit on the couch and watch TV than do anything else.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Kate finally asked me after she'd noticed me sitting alone in the front room. A few people were scattered around me but were talking amongst themselves and pretending as if I didn't exist.

She sat down beside me with a drink in one hand and the other resting against my leg.

"I appreciate you inviting me here, but this isn't what I'm used to. I'm not even old enough to drink."

I whispered the last part and Kate laughed while she shook her head.

"Neither am I. Who cares?"

"Wait. How old is Rob again?"

I knew that Kate was seventeen, but Rob was in his second year of University, and I also was well aware that the two had a history together. Kate seemed uncomfortable that I'd asked and she took a long sip of her drink.

"What's he, like twenty?"

She kept quiet and I pressed on, slowly straightening up. I'd spotted him stood laughing with a few other guys, all of them with drinks in their hands and I'd realized then that he seemed much older than not only me, but us.

"He doesn't know I'm seventeen," she said quickly and with a straight face. "He's twenty-eight."

My eyes widened and they darted between her and Rob. I didn't know what to think and before I could say anything she leaned closer and made me promise that I would keep the conversation to myself.

"Kate!" Both of our heads snapped up when Rob had called for her with a smile and the wave of his hand, "Both of you, come here."

With a sigh she stood first and since I hadn't said anything I just nodded and followed her slowly.

"Madison, this is my friend Steve," Rob said, gesturing toward a guy across from me.

He looked to be younger than Rob, but almost a foot taller than I was and I just smiled and tucked my hair behind my ear.

"You guys want to go smoke?" he asked and I felt a flush of nerves swirl in my gut.

"Sure," Kate said almost immediately, "Madison?"

I looked between Rob and Steve and back to Kate, and without a word I just shrugged my shoulders.

I hadn't done what they were about to do and I felt nervous even sitting with them while Steve lit up first. He sucked in a long drag and held it, passing the rolled up joint to Rob and then to Kate.

We were sat in Rob's bedroom away from the rest of the party, he and Kate sat up toward the pillows on his bed while Steve was in his desk chair and I sat at the foot closest to Kate.

She held it out to me, squinting her eyes from the white smoke seeping out of her mouth.

"It's not that bad," she said when I didn't take it right away, "just do a little, you'll feel better."

Any other time, I would've declined and just sat and watched, but for some reason, my hand lifted up off the bed and I took the small joint and brought it to my mouth. It tasted strange and I coughed a bit when I inhaled. All three of them laughed but I just inhaled deeper until Kate reached for my hand and told me to stop.

On top of the beer I'd had, I felt a tingling in my legs and my lips felt numb. After the second pass around I could feel my arms lifting up away from the rest of my body even though I knew they were still by my sides and I laughed. Kate laughed along with me while I rambled on about how fish can breathe water and without even realizing, I felt a hand on mine and the bed sink beside me.

Steve was there, his brown eyes red around the rims when he plopped down and took my hand in his. I had been too busy laughing to notice Rob and Kate with their hands and mouths all over each other. I sat still on the bed, feeling my heart thumping behind my ribs when the stranger beside me brushed the hair from my shoulder and called me beautiful.

Maybe it was the combination of the alcohol and the weed we smoked, but I didn't push him away. Slowly I looked over to him. He was cute, but not as good-looking as Rob and had short curly brown hair. After the hair slipped from my shoulder I felt his warm breath on the spot and for some reason I didn't stop him when he kissed from there and up my neck, my hand still loosely in his.

My eyes fell closed and I let my head lazily fall a little to the side until he shifted closer and cupped my cheek, pulling my face to his to meet our lips. He kissed differently than Ed did. It was more wet and a little sloppy and he was using too much tongue. I tried keeping up with his pacing but he was going too fast, hardly breathing between messy kisses and holding my face just under my jaw. It felt good to loose myself in something other than thinking about Ed and I was surprised when I started to take the lead in the stranger's kiss.

I grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him back just as hard as he'd kissed me but he pulled away and took my hand to pull me up off the bed. The room tilted when I stood and followed him out of the door, leaving Kate and Rob making out behind us.

Steve brought me by the hand across the hall into another bedroom and once inside he closed the door and pressed me to it with his hips, holding the sides of my face when he met our lips again. It progressed faster since we'd been alone and once he slipped his hand up my shirt I could hardly catch my breath. I hadn't thought twice before I felt it being lifted and pulled over my head.

My numb hands fell to the band of his jeans and I tugged at the button, yanking him closer. I hardly got his button undone before he was tearing mine open and shoving the denim over my hips. My head spun and I could barely process a single thought, but when he pressed me harder to the door with his groin, I felt uneasy. It was as if a switch had been flipped and I realized what was happening.

With his lips still on mine he slipped his hand down and cupped the sensitive flesh between my legs, making me jerk my hips back and tug my mouth away from his.

"Wait," I panted, scrambling to pull his hand away, "Stop."

He let his hand fall and he stumbled back a little, panting just as hard as I had been.

"I'm so sorry," I told him, bending to pick up my shirt and jeans. "I'm only sixteen."

A look of shock washed over his face and he was suddenly sober, quickly pulling his jeans closed.

"I'm sorry," I said again, rushing to tug on my clothes and leave the room.

I felt sick as I hurried across the hall where I knew Kate had been, and though I knew the two of them had been involved before, I still cringed when I heard them through the door. As much as I didn't want to, I still knocked and called for Kate, asking if she was okay.

Through a curse she said she was and for me to go away, and without hesitation, I hurried down the stairs and pushed my way through the crowd of people. I felt so stupid once I got outside into the cold air and sat on the cement steps. Though I tried to fight it, I threw my face in my hands and cried.

**

I ended up sitting in Kate's car and fell asleep curled up in the passenger seat with the doors locked. It felt like I'd been sleeping for hours, but it couldn't have been longer than twenty minutes when I heard a knocking on the window.

Slowly I opened my eyes and looked over, seeing Steve on the other side of the door.

"Sorry if I scared you," he said, "I swear I'm not going to do anything. Why don't you just come inside? It's freezing out here."

I shook my head and wiped the dried tears from under my eyes and cheeks.

"Fine. I'll just stand here all night so I know you're okay."

He leaned against the front of the car and pulled his arms closer to his chest, shivering from the cold. I could see his breath spilling from his mouth and nose in a long white mist.

For a few minutes I stayed curled up on the seat, and I looked up, expecting him to be gone, but he was still there shaking his leg and rubbing his arms in an attempt to keep warm.

With a sigh I sat up and unlocked the door, feeling my fingers numb from the cold air.

Steve looked up when he heard the lock pop.

I walked quietly behind him to the house and sat down on the same side of the sofa I had when I first got to Rob's, only this time, Steve sat beside me at a distance.

"I'm sorry about before," he blurted and I looked up at him, "I didn't know you're only sixteen."

He leaned his elbows on his knees and glanced down at the floor between his feet.

"I'm just as guilty," I said honestly, "I didn't exactly stop you."

He smiled a little and shrugged before leaning back against the sofa. Most of the people who had been around before had either moved to the kitchen or had left, so it was just the two of us and two others on the very opposite side almost out of ear shot.

We talked for a little bit and he asked how I knew Rob. I'd found out that Steve was twenty-three and Rob's flat mate, and though I wanted to be honest and tell him that Kate was nearly as young as me, I kept my promise and didn't say a word.

Steve was nice and I'd felt bad about leading him on and leaving him alone in the bedroom. I apologized to him but he took responsibility and made me promise that I wouldn't feel bad about it.

We sat there talking for nearly an hour before Kate stumbled into the room, spilling the drink in her hand on her way over to where we sat.

"Maaadisonn," she slurred, hobbling toward the two of us on the sofa.

Steve caught her arm when she fell to the couch, her red drink sloshing over the side of her cup when she nearly fell on top of him and laughed.

"She's my ride home," I sighed, and Steve shook his head.

"You should both probably just stay here, you haven't got a license, right?"

I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was to stay at Rob's house of all people, and on top of that, I knew my curfew would be soon and my mother wouldn't allow me to spend the night at a stranger's. Even if I'd chosen to lie to her about where I was, we were close, and she knew me better than I did.

"I don't, but," I trailed, feeling embarrassed that I even had curfew, "I can't stay, I have to be home soon."

Kate was nearly asleep sitting up on the couch, and Steve took the drink from her and set it down on the table beside the sofa.

"Unless you want me to drive you home, I don't think that's going to happen."

After a few minutes of deciding what to do, I reached into my pocket for my phone and checked the time. It'd already been well past eleven and I was already breaking curfew for over a half hour. With a sigh I sent my mother a text message and said I was staying over Kate's house and to not worry and hoped that she would understand.


	12. Looking Up

Ed

 

A lot can happen in two weeks' time.  For one, I've had a shower every morning and sometimes each night.  I've been fed and earned myself enough money to buy some clothes that were desperately needed. 

After a few days I'd finally gotten up the courage to pick up the phone and ring my mother.  Deep down I knew the way I'd left home was unfair to her and she deserved far better.  She answered on the second ring and though I felt anxious, the nerves and fear faded the second I heard her voice. 

"Hi mum," I said, keeping my voice calm and free of emotion. 

"Ed?" She asked, her tone filled with concern and shock, "Baby is that you?"

The second I said yes she broke down.  My chin quivered and I fought back the stinging in my eyes, trying hard to mask the ache in my chest.  

Through rushed words she asked if I was alright and without hesitation I told her I was.  In that moment I wished I could reach through the phone and wrap my arms around her.  

"I've been so worried.  I know you're smart and I know you're careful, but my God Edward you scared me."

I could practically see her wiping her eyes as she sniffled and sighed, "Lord I miss you."

It was too hard to hold back the feelings trying to push their way through and I let a warm tear fall down my cheek.

We chatted for a bit and I told her of my adventures, careful to keep out a few details.  I'd mentioned Stuart and his pub and she seemed happy for me, or at least she pretended to be.

Just after a pause of conversation she sighed and I could feel the next topic before she even spoke. 

"Your father has been worried about you," she said.  

I kept quiet to process what she'd said and though I didn't feel any truth in her words, I knew she was only trying to make me feel better, or maybe worse.  

"He's cut down on the drinking," she continued, "He started a new job a few days ago."

I rubbed my hand roughly over my face, trying not to get agitated with the sensitive subject.  

"Reckon that won't last long," I blurted.  

We both knew it was true, as we'd seen him go through rebound after rebound over and over again.  It became tiring.  And predictable.  

"He's trying, Edward."

After that I told her I had to go and that I loved her, and with a smile in her voice she said it back before we both respectively hung up.  

It felt comforting having spoken with her after it'd been so long, and it made me feel better that she knew I was safe.  I had briefly told her about Stuart and how welcoming and kind he'd been, and at first she was apprehensive about the idea, but came around when I assured her that his only intention was to help.  For a second I imagined them meeting. 

Stuart has been the closest thing I have to a friend recently.  The morning after he and his girlfriend invited me to eat dinner at their table I woke up and spotted a yellow sticky note stuck to my black guitar case.  The two of them had gone off to work and after I saw it I peeled myself from the sofa and wandered over to read the short message.

'Hope you don't mind the patchwork -  Stu,' it read in messy writing.

Confused, I opened the case, which I'd only done a few times since I'd left home.   From being dropped to the ground and tossed from the car that cold night, it'd gotten scratched and cracked a bit.  I didn't think about trying to fix it, and I hadn't told Stuart, but he figured it out.  I reached for the neck and pulled it out, examining the patchwork Stuart had warned me of.  He'd put tape along the front side in an attempt to replace a small missing piece of wood and another piece toward the bottom.  I ran my fingers over the white tape, feeling a smile work its way over my mouth.  And just to be sure it still worked, I held it properly and strummed.  

Once a few days had passed, Stuart said I should start playing the open-mic nights at the pub.  Although it was nerve-wracking to think about it, I played both that following Wednesday and Friday night.  It usually was just me and one or two others, but I'd had fun and grew to enjoy performing in front of people, even if it turned out to be a small crowd who hardly listened.

Given the spare time between working in the pub and playing the short gigs, I'd managed to pen a few songs.  The night Libby had asked about the necklace was the same night I spent writing in my torn up journal curled up on the sofa with Stanley in my lap.  I didn't stop until I had usable lyrics, and the main inspiration I had was Madison and the heart-shaped stone I'd carved months before.

"This one's a bit silly, but I hope you like it," I said over the chatter of the small crowd and into the mic, tuning my guitar, "It's called Wake Me Up."

There were so many things I wanted to do and places I wanted to see.  I wanted a tattoo and a passport and I wanted to go back home and grab Madison and take us around the world, but all of those ambitions seemed so out of reach.  

Stuart served drinks and made conversation with the few patrons and I caught him smiling up at me every few minutes.  He'd seen me play plenty of times and for some strange reason, his approval was more important to me than almost anything else.

I sang the lyrics out through a partial smile, going on about the way Madison would flick her hair off her shoulder, and the way I swore her eyes would turn from green to grey in the cold weather.  She'd deny it when she'd stare in the mirror with her eyes wide, but I could see it.  I could see them change when the sky misted over and the temperature dropped. I could see it in them when worry washed over her and when I'd shut her out and fill her to the brim with lies. I could see it when I said I was leaving her behind.

If I'd fall asleep with my head on her shoulder during one of our twelve viewings of Shrek, she'd wake me up with a whisper or by brushing the hair off my face, and that smile stretched over her mouth when she'd press her hand to my cheek was all that I'd never need.

After I'd finished I unplugged my guitar and packed it up, propping it up behind the bar.  

"Nice one tonight, Ed," Stuart said, sliding a pint across to me.

I gave him a smile in return and gladly took the drink.  I'd been the last to perform so it wouldn't matter whether I got pissed or not.  Normally after the gigs and toward the end of the night I'd help Stuart clean and lock up, but I found myself tossing back drinks.  Stuart had cut me off after the second, given that I was technically underage to do so, but I still snuck two more pints between laughing and chatting with a group of guys.  It wasn't long before they noticed that I'd 'worked' at the pub and I was sliding them free drinks as well behind Stuart's back.

Sometimes I don't know my own limits.  It always starts with one drink and then two and before I know it I'm laughing and stumbling.  My face felt hot and the floor seemed to be moving under my feet, and I knew I'd had too much, but I didn't care.  

"Ed," I heard Stuart's voice call, just as the three guys I'd been chatting to had gone off.  I struggled looking over my shoulder to find where he was, and in the process stumbled and sat heavily against a bar stool.

"I need you to sweep up, I asked nearly ten minutes ago-" he trailed and rested the broom against the bar to my left.  I didn't even know my eyes were closed until I opened them when he spoke.

He sighed and though his figure was fuzzy in front of me, I could still see him look me in the eyes and shake his head.

Stuart didn't say much else, he just took it upon himself to clean up the pub whilst I sat slumped against the bar with my head propped up on my hand.  I felt like I was lost at sea swaying on the stool.

The last thing I remember was Stuart helping me up the steps and into the flat.  

At the time, I didn't think twice about getting drunk, but the next morning I felt a bit of regret.  Stuart was making his tea and he turned as I padded into the kitchen.

"Have a good night, did you?" he asked.

I ruffled the back of my hair, feeling my brain banging inside my skull.

He set the kettle down and crossed his arms.

"I've nothing against having a good time but you've still got to help out at the pub, that was our deal."

I let my hand fall from my hair and shoved them in the front pockets of the jeans I'd slept in. 

I cleared my throat.

"I was just mucking around with Ron, the other performer," I trailed before the kettle on the stove cut me off with a sharp whistle.  Stuart didn't seem angry but still I felt that familiar feeling of fear tingle in my chest and settle deep down in the bottoms of my feet. 

He sighed and went for the kettle.

"And I know you slipped those lads free drinks," he said with his back to me, the steam from the hot water rising up over his shoulder. 

I swallowed and unintentionally took a step back, hiking up my jeans.  

"So you've nothing to say then?" 

He broke the silence once he turned to face me, his mug in his hand and a tea bag in his other. 

"Sorry," I blurted. 

With another sigh he dropped the tea bag in.

"Well, I appreciate the apology but sadly that doesn't replace my inventory."

He seemed to think for a minute before he set the steaming mug down.

"I'm heading down in about an hour, maybe you can join me."

With that he retrieved his mug and I stepped aside as he walked past.  I was left standing in silence feeling as if I'd just gotten branded.  In the past I knew all too well how it felt to be shouted at and far worse, but this new feeling swirling in my gut was bred from pure guilt because of my own actions.  Stuart didn't have to raise his voice or his hand to me, and I realized that him being disappointed actually hurt worse than if he'd just given me a smack.

I wandered off to the bathroom and got myself sorted for the day and wasted no time heading down to the pub with him, treading behind in silence.  

Come the lunch hour rush I was behind the bar drying the glasses when Stuart nudged my arm with his elbow.  I found him smiling beside me.

"Cheer the fuck up will ya?" He said with a smirk.

I couldn't help but smile but quickly looked down at my hands before he gently ruffled the back of my hair.  I hadn't realized how quiet I'd been since that mornings confrontation and it wasn't until Stuart let his hand fall away that I felt a bit of relief.  

Later that night, just after seven or so, two girls walked into the pub.  I looked up when Stuart poked my arm to turn my attention to the door and my eyes landed on the blonde who had a guitar case at her side.  I blinked twice. 

She looked to her left where the small stage area was set and then to me where I quickly diverted my eyes.  

"Hey, the sign out front says open mic," she said, and Stuart reminded me with his eyes that she directed the question to me. 

"Oh," I cleared my throat, "yeah, sorry.  That's not meant to be out there.  Forgot to take it in last night."

I felt my face flush.

"So?" She asked, shaking her head a bit, "Is it only Wednesday's then?"

"Friday's.  Every Wednesday and Friday."

She nodded and looked to her friend.  

"You don't have to stay," she told her, setting down her guitar before she sat down on a barstool.

"No, I'll stay for a bit," she gave me a once over before she sat down on her friend's right. 

The blonde had caught my eye the second she walked through the door.  She had amber eyes and red-stained lips and I felt a swirling in my gut.  I didn't know if it was a mix of hormones and nerves or guilt for sparking such an immediate interest in her.  

The two ordered drinks and I kept to myself whilst they chatted.  Stuart looked up or over every few minutes, nodding toward the girls when he mouthed for me to go talk to them.  I never was the type to flirt or start a conversation, with the exception of Madison, and the blonde was intimidating to say the very least.  Her hair curled at the bottoms, falling midway down her arms and though I wanted to stop my eyes from trailing, they wandered from the slew of colorful bracelets on her wrists and straight to her chest.  

"Have a wandering eye do ya?" 

My head nearly fell off my shoulders when I snapped it up to address what she'd said.  

"S-sorry, I was-I thought you-I was looking to see if you needed a refill."

The girls looked to each other before the blonde laughed into her nearly full glass.  I cursed my pale skin, knowing it was surely glowing brighter than the orange hair on my head.  

I didn't even bother saying another word before I turned on my heel and went straight for the small kitchen in the back.  

"Oh good, here," Chris said when I came through the door, sliding a plate of chips over the counter, "these go to table three."

He raised his voice over the music blaring from his earphones, not even bothering to check if I'd heard or acknowledged what he said. 

Chris was the only cook, given the pub wasn't as big as others.  Stuart introduced me my first proper day working with him.  He was in and out a lot and hardly showed to his shifts, so some of the time Stuart would have to cook and serve the drinks, while I did the rest.  

With a sigh I grabbed the plate and walked back out into the pub, trying to keep my eyes away from the blonde.


	13. Changes

 

**_Madison_ **

 

 

“So have you started any applications yet?”

I heard the question but let it in one ear and straight out the other.  The only thing my dad ever wanted to talk about was university and it was driving my interest down.  A lot.

“Maddy?”

With a sigh I pulled my eyes from the window and looked to my dad. 

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

“Since when? I’ve always called you Maddy.  And stop avoiding the question.”

“Since I was like ten, dad, and I’m not avoiding the question, I’m just annoyed by it.”

He didn’t seem too amused with my answer but he chose to not pick an argument on the short car drive.  A part of me was thankful I started work in less than ten minutes, but only because the last thing I wanted to talk about was school.  Regardless of how I felt, though, I decided to humor him.

“I've been thinking about a social work program.”

He glanced over.

“What happened to what we talked about?”

“I don't want to be a doctor, dad, I wouldn't be good at it.  I’d rather help kids in a different way,” I trailed.

“Maddy,” he started, and then sighed, “Mad, I love you and you know I want the very best for you.  But social workers don't earn what you might think they do.  It's a very low paying career.”

“I don't care about the money.  And I'm sure I’d do just fine compared to what I make now.”

Though I could sense his annoyance, we were pulling up to the restaurant and he wouldn't have enough time to argue even if he wanted to.

“Well the conversation isn’t over, we’ll talk later,” he said.

Without another word I climbed from the car and swung the door shut and left the conversation behind.

Kate didn’t have work that night, but Rob was there and ever since finding out his real age something felt different between us.  His words lingered in the air whenever he spoke to me, and I gave him one word answers or silent shrugs, and I think he could sense something was wrong.  As much as I wanted to speak up, the other part of me didn’t want to get involved in what they had or didn’t have between each other.

I kept to myself for the whole four hours of my shift, waiting tables and dealing with some of the usual customers. 

“So you’re avoiding me now?”

I glanced up after clocking out, seeing Rob on my way toward the exit.

“I’ve no reason to be avoiding you,”  I said.

He cracked a smile, showing those perfect teeth and I almost stuck my foot out to trip him just to increase the chances of him chipping a front one.

“Well good, because Kate and I are going out Friday and we want you to come.  Steve asked if you were coming.”

I looked at him like he had another head on his shoulders.

“Me and Steve are not a thing, so I hope he doesn’t think we are.”

He simply shook his head, “He never said you were, but he wants you to come.”

“I’ll talk to Kate.”

Rob smiled and pushed the door open to hold it for me.

“See ya Friday, Mad.”

After the door swung shut and he retreated back inside I climbed in the car where my mother was waiting out front.

“Cute,” she said once I sealed the door shut, “what’s his name?”

“He’s taken and not quite my type, mom.”

The space between us fell silent until she began to drive.

“Defensive much? Maybe you have a little crush.”

I shook my head.

“Well he seems nice.  I’m glad to see you’re making some new friends.”

I had no patience for her questions and though I didn’t mean to snap at her or come across as rude, I couldn’t filter myself.

“Friends that aren’t Ed, right?”

She sighed. “I didn’t meant it like that Madison.”

I didn’t know what it was about car rides and my parents choosing those moments to start up awkward conversations.  Maybe it was because I was confined in a box of metal and glass with no way out; I couldn’t just walk away or shut them out behind my bedroom door.  I knew my mother meant what she said, and it was okay, because even I started to believe that maybe having Ed as even a friend was a bad idea.  It was tiring thinking about him or how he might’ve been, and it made anger bubble up inside me anytime I mentioned his name.

Once we got home I went straight for my room without saying a word to either of my parents.  I was tired of talking about my feelings and everything in between.  I just wanted to be locked away in the quiet, with no interruptions.

It lasted all but three seconds before my phone buzzed.

“What are you doing right nowwww?” Kate texted me.  I smiled a little at how eager she seemed.

“Laying on my bed.  I smell like grease.  In case you wanted to know.”

“Come hang out at Rob’s.”

I thought for a minute.  Chances were that my parents wouldn't let me go out on a school night, but I figured they'd be asleep within an hour anyway, and what they didn't know couldn't hurt them. 

“Pick me up in an hour?”

*

I showered and changed clothes after saying goodnight to my parents, and once they retreated to their room and sealed the door shut, I gently closed mine, swiped the spare house key, and slipped out the front.

It’d been nearly two weeks since the night I'd slept at his house, and although my parents were not happy with my choice, they were more concerned about my safety and chose not to ground me.

“Haven't seen you in ages,” Rob said from the sofa once we walked in.  He had a beer in one hand and a game controller in his other.

“Hilarious,” I said, with little sense of amusement. 

He grabbed the second controller from the table in front of him and handed it out to me.

“You any good at Mario Kart?”

Two hours later we were invested in the game.  Kate wouldn’t admit it, but she was even worse than me at it, and I’d lost more than once.  We’d ordered pizza and drank beer and it didn’t hit me until we were all laughing together that I was happy.  I enjoyed their company and for the time being my mind was only focused on the game and winning, and especially beating Rob.

“Wow.  I’m a little hurt that I wasn’t invited,” a voice rang out and only I snapped my head behind us where Steve was standing.

“Here,” Kate said, not even thinking twice about handing her controller to him, “I suck anyway.  I was the turtle.”

She slumped back on the couch, her phone immediately occupying her hands.

Steve took the invite and made himself comfortable on the floor.

After a new round he was gaining on me and Rob was spitting insults at him after he’d dropped a banana peel in the road, making him spin out.

In the end, Steve won.  He dropped his controller and raised his arms up over his head, proclaiming himself champion.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel heat prickling my cheeks when our eyes met.  My phone buzzed and rather than answer my mother, I silenced it. 

It’d been almost midnight by then and Kate caught me ignoring the call.

“I can bring you home if you need to go Mad.”

I shook my head and stood from the couch, stepping behind Steve on my way to the bathroom.  My mother had called twice and since I didn’t have it in me to worry her again, I opted to text her and tell her I’d be home soon.

Steve was dumping stale beer into the kitchen sink when I walked from the bathroom and he looked to me.  I gave him a small smile, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Hey, Maddy, wait,” he spoke up and I stopped in my tracks, turning to face him.

With a clank of the glass beer bottle hitting the sink he folded his arms over his chest.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, “I know I already said it before but I really feel awful about what happened.”

“Are you that repulsed by me?”

He was caught off guard and uncrossed his arms.

“What? No, Madison I’m not repulsed by you, I took advantage of you and I feel like a dick.”

“Well get over it, it happened and you already said you were sorry.  It’s fine.”

Even I was surprising myself with my attitude.

“Okay, well, I wanted you to know that I like you a lot as a friend, and I wanted you to hear it from me that I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

I shook my head at him, indicating that I didn’t exactly care, although I felt a little bit of relief and hurt at the same time.  I wasn’t looking for a relationship nor was I really that attracted to Steve, but that kind of rejection hurts regardless.

“Congratulations.  I’m sure she’s lovely.”

Before either of us could walk away, I sighed to break the heavy silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m not mad or jealous or anything, I think it’s great you’re seeing someone, but you don’t have to answer to me.”

With a slight nod he stepped forward a little, “I just figured you had the right to know.  And you’re still coming out Friday right?”

“Yeah.  I’ll be there.”

He seemed relieved, and he smiled, waving me along with him to head back to the sofa.

*

Kate dropped me off at home shortly after that.  For a while we laughed about playing the video game with Rob and how worked up he got when he’d lose, but it wasn’t long before she wanted to talk about Steve.

“So you don’t like him?” she asked.

“It’s not that I don’t like him, I’m just not ready for another relationship and I don’t really think we’d work out anyway.”

She almost laughed but stopped herself, “Yeah because your last relationship worked out so great, right?”

I kept quiet until she realized what she’d said. 

“Sorry.  I know it’s still fresh to you, but I think if you start seeing someone else you’ll feel better.”

“Steve has a girlfriend, Kate.”

She didn’t know, that much I could tell when she fell silent.

“It’s okay.  I didn’t like him like that anyway.  Plus he’s way too old for me.”

The awkward silence in the car felt impossible to break.  I started to wonder if even Kate and I would last as friends.  We were two different people, much different than Ed and I.  Kate was into partying and getting drunk, and being with older guys.  I used to be into getting good grades and keeping out of trouble, and it wasn’t until that very moment sitting in the car seat that I realized I wasn’t the same person anymore. 

Before either of us could say another word she pulled up outside my house where the lights were on inside.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” I said, “thanks for the ride.”

She just smiled and said goodbye, not even bothering to wait for me to walk in the house before she drove off.  I expected my mother to be awake and waiting for me to come home and I knew I owed it to her to apologize and explain some of what I’d been going through.  We were close and I hated disappointing her.  But the look on both my parent’s faces once I walked through the door was enough to make me want to press rewind and walk straight back out. 

“Madison Grace,” my mother scolded and I cringed, “where have you been?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and walked forward a bit after locking the door.

“I was with Kate.  She’s been going through a breakup and asked me to come over to keep her company.”

It was clear my mother knew that most of what I’d said was a lie, but for some reason she didn’t call me out on it.

“This is the second time in two weeks,” my father spoke up, “and it’s completely unacceptable.”

“I thought you guys were asleep,” I mumbled, urging myself to slip away to my room.

My dad held his hand out in front of him with a step closer.

“Phone,” he simply stated, waiting for me to walk over and give it up.

“But I need it, dad,” I argued, “for work, for getting rides. What if Ed calls?”

The last bit was a string of hope I’d let die a long time ago, but I knew my mother would take my side on it.  To my surprise though, she didn’t say a single word.

With his hand still waiting, he continued his lecture.

“Your grades have dropped significantly since you’ve gotten that job.  You sneak out, you lie, and it’s obvious to me that you’re not mature enough to have one.”

I looked to my mother but she kept quiet with her hands planted at her hips.

“Well when can I have it back, then?” I asked, reluctant to hand over my phone.

I could sense the anger building up inside him, just by his flattened eyebrows and hardened features.

“When you get your grades up.”

Even I knew that could be weeks, or months and I refused to hand over my phone, simply shaking my head and storming off to my bedroom.  It didn’t surprise me when my father tailed behind and scolded me for walking away.  It wasn’t often I’d get myself into trouble and I was sensitive enough to break under just the wrong look, and my dad’s tone alone was enough to make me want to cry.

“That’s not fair dad,” I said on the verge of tears, slumping down on my bed when he walked in right behind me.

“Fair?” he questioned, “How’s being grounded for a week, then? Is that fair?”

I immediately thought of Friday and our plans to go out but before I could argue him he carried on.

“I’m suspending your phone line until you show me better grades.”

“You can’t, dad, if Ed calls and I can’t answer-“

“I don’t want to hear that boy’s name again, do you understand me?”

His change in tone caught me off guard and I looked up at him all red in the face. 

“He was nothing but trouble,” he continued, raising his voice a little more, “You think I couldn’t smell the smoke on him the second he walked in this house? Boys like him are only after one thing, Madison, and I won’t see you knocked up and stuck with a loser like him.”

Now the anger was boiling up inside me.  I could feel it in my feet and rush up into the pit of my stomach and  it swirled in my chest burned on its way to my mouth where I wanted to spew a plethora of obscenities, but the words just melted to hot tears that stung my eyes when I fought to hold them in.

I could hardly see him leave through the blur in my eyes, but I heard the door slam just before he shouted that we weren’t through discussing University.  In that moment, I cursed everything.  I wiped my eyes, although I continued to cry.  For a split second I contemplated going out to find Ed just to look him in the eye and slap him straight across his face for leaving me to deal with his absence the way he did.  Though the words my dad spat hurt, the smallest part of me argued that he was right.

Without another thought, I stood up from my bed and went for my closet to grab the shoebox that held all of our memories.  The closest photo was a Polaroid I’d taken of us with my mom’s old camera.  Ed was wearing a green cap over his too-long hair and a shirt that matched the orange strands.  I wanted to smile at the way his lips were tucked in and he had his eyes closed, showing the birthmark by his left eye peeking out behind a strand of hair, but it just upset me more.  I had a smile carved over my mouth in the photo, though it was partially hidden against his right cheek, it was clear how happy I was in the picture.  Funny how a photograph can capture such a cherished moment and something as simple as time can drain every ounce of happiness from the ink.  It felt heavy in my hands and with tears burning my throat and brain, I tore it in two straight down the middle, pulling us apart for good.

 


	14. Fall

 

**_Ed_ **

 

 

Thursday night was a good one.  I hadn’t had many good nights, and to mark one off the calendar was a great accomplishment.  After chatting with the blonde I couldn’t stop thinking about her.  I knew it was soon to be developing such a strong crush on someone else, but I just couldn’t help it, and the phone conversation with Madison’s father didn’t exactly make me feel bad about it. 

Alex is a fresh face, maybe even a fresh start.  She understands music and my passion and we seemed to hit it off the first night we met.  She promised she’d play tonight and I even opted to help Stuart open the pub early, not even skipping a beat when he asked me to mop the floors and wipe down all the tables.  I wanted the place to look nice, and he wouldn’t stop taking the piss.

“That girl’s got you working harder than I’ve seen you work since you got here,” he teased, watching me nearly break a sweat pushing the mop about.

“You’re just jealous you can’t land the pretty girls,” I smirked, looking up over my shoulder.

His mouth dropped and he grabbed the nearest towel to chuck it at me. 

“I’ve a gorgeous girlfriend you twat,” he nearly laughed.

I dodged the towel and threw it back at him.

The rest of the day couldn’t have gone by any slower.  I delivered hungry customers their greasy foods and pints, keeping my eye on the door even though I knew Alex wouldn’t be coming by until seven that night. And when she finally walked in, I felt my toes tingle, and I smiled and looked toward Stuart, who was too busy to notice.

With her guitar case by her side she walked in alone, wearing skin tight black jeans and an oversized hoodie.  I wondered for a minute what she’d look like in one of mine.

“Hey,” she said when she spotted me wiping down a table.

“Hi, where’s your friend?”

“Something came up and she couldn't make it.” Alex said, flashing me a sort of confused look across her face, but mainly her eyebrows when they angled slightly together.  “Why? You into her?”

I almost choked on my words and shook my head quickly, rubbing the back of my hair while I denied her accusation.  With a slight laugh she asked for a drink and I mentally kicked myself when I slipped away.

For a while she sat at the bar, skimming through a small notepad as she nursed her apple and Bacardi cocktail, and I watched the bubbles fizz inside the glass.  I’d offered for her to perform first, but she declined, so I went ahead and started, feeling my palms sweat as I bounced nervously on my heels. 

It wasn’t often I was that nervous singing, especially since there weren’t many people paying attention, but she was.  She watched me tune my guitar and I felt the warmth in my cheeks, trying to hide my smile behind the microphone.

She smiled and bobbed her head along to the beat of some of the happier tunes I’d penned, but once I’d gone off and started to sing the newest one I’d written, she sat against the stool with her chin resting in her hand, just taking in the lyrics.  It was the one I’d written about Madison and how in love I was or how the love I had for her still lingered like a constant rain cloud over my head.  Shortly after I wrapped it up I regretted singing it, worried it would ruin my chance, if I had one, with Alex.

I’d actually earned a bit of applause from the small crowd, and with a smile and a nod I thanked them, turning my eyes toward Alex who was clapping right along.

On her way over to me she nudged my arm.

“I don’t think I can top that,” she said, “if I’d known you were that good I would’ve gone first to save myself the embarrassment.”

The blush had surely returned to my entire face, especially when she peeled off the hoodie to reveal a solid white t shirt that more than complimented her figure.

“Thanks but I’m sure you’re amazing,” I said, clearing my throat and looking away.

She shrugged and threw the hoodie down to unpack her guitar as I settled mine back in its case.  Compared to hers with the mahogany wood and shiny body, mine looked sad and dirty, abused even.

“I’ve never seen such a small guitar but you make it work,” she told me, tuning her own.

“I’ve been meaning to get a new one, but this one seems to work until then.”

Alex draped the strap around her neck, untucking her hair before she began to tune the strings.

“Are you gonna sing with me?” she asked and my head snapped up.

“What?”

“Because you’re in the way, love.”

She said the words with a wink and with little care and I quickly stepped aside, relieved that I hadn’t tripped over my own two feet on the way off stage.  I heard her chuckle into the mic when I grabbed my guitar and headed back toward the bar.

Her voice was something I couldn’t write down.  It was soft and smooth and had the perfect pitch, and the way she closed her eyes when she hit the higher notes nearly made me want to give up singing forever.  She wasn’t just good, she was incredible.  Enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.

Halfway through her short performance I felt a firm nudge against my arm and I jumped a bit.

“Wipe your chin, mate, you’re drooling,” Stuart whispered, trying hard not to laugh at me.

I scowled and shoved him back, and then he ruffled the back of my hair, dodging my swinging hand.

She came straight back over to the bar after a round of applause and a few whistles, and I didn’t think I was worthy of even complementing her.

“You’re bloody amazing,” I blurted with a wide smile, one that showed my teeth, and that was rare.

Alex pushed her hair back and set her guitar case down with the hoodie on top of it before she took her seat.

“Thanks,” she said, a little out of breath, “right back at you.”

I couldn't fight the heat swirling low in my stomach when she smiled at me.  It wasn't a new feeling, but it didn't feel welcome, and I'd almost felt guilty about it. 

“Is that the necklace from the song?”

Her question pulled me from my trance and my right hand scrambled to find the stone resting snug against my skin.  I nodded and pinched the pebble between my thumb and first finger.

“Sounds like you really love that girl.  Is she here? I'd love to meet her.”

She took a sip of the drink Stuart had refilled.

“No,” I said, clearing the crack in my throat, “she's back home.  I haven't spoken to her in almost three months.”

Hearing it from my own mouth made it so much more real and I almost didn't believe it had been that long.

“Sorry,” she said, “it really sounded as if you two really had something.”

“Yeah, we used to anyway.”

She smirked a bit and leaned forward to nudge my arm, “hey, at least you got a damn good song out of it, right?”

Heat pricked my skin where hers had landed and with a shrug, I nodded. 

*

An hour or so later I'd been in the middle of clearing and wiping down tables when Stuart caught my attention from behind the bar.

He signaled to me that he was deciding to close up and then nodded his head toward Alex, who was still sat on the same stool, jotting something down in her little black notebook. 

Most of all the other customers had gone, and she was the second to last left.  I gathered the change from the table nearest me and handed it to Stuart.  I would've cleared the tab out but he said I was too shit with numbers.  He wasn't wrong.

“Hey,” I said, catching Alex’s attention.  She glanced up from her notebook, flashing her brown eyes at me. 

“What's up?”

“We're actually closing up.  I didn't mean to interrupt you.”

She looked around the pub and then at her watch, which was tangled between a slew of colorful bracelets.

“Shit, I didn't realize the time.  Sorry.”

I shook my head and gestured with my hands for her to stop, “No, no it's okay you don't have to rush.”

Still she closed up her notebook and pulled out some money to pay her bill.

“I should get going anyway.  It was really nice to see you play tonight.  Will I see you next week?”

I wasn't ready to let her go yet. 

“I work here,” I said with a slight hint of laughter in my tone, “I don't have anywhere else to be.”

She bent to gather her guitar and straightened back up before she quickly glanced to Stuart and back around the pub. 

“Actually, do you want to come back to my place for a bit?”

My mouth went all dry and I could feel my toes tingle inside my worn out Chucks.  Without thinking, I nodded. 

“Maybe you can help me finish this song I was working on, since you threw me off track.”

Stuart must've heard the invite because when I looked up to find him he was nodding furiously and making obscene gestures until she followed my gaze.  He stopped abruptly and pretended to run his hand over his almost nonexistent hair.

“Let me just get my guitar.”

I didn't realize how big I was smiling until Stuart slapped my shoulder.

“You're gonna blow it smiling like that, lad,” he said.

“Oh like you just didn't? What the hell was even that motion you were doing with your hands mate?”

He wanted to laugh but stopped himself, choosing rather to just shrug.  I gathered my guitar and before I turned away Stuart reached into his pocket.

“Here,” he said, handing me a spare key, “I'm sure I'll be asleep by the time you get in.”

With a wink he nudged my arm.

“Now go, before I change my mind and make you clean the loo.”

Without hesitation I thanked him for letting me leave early and headed toward the door where Alex was waiting.

*

Her flat wasn't far from the pub so she suggested we walk.  The weather had finally started to warm up, but it was still a bit cold, to me anyway.  On the way we chatted about the night and she asked if Stuart was my dad. 

I laughed a bit and shook my head, “No.  Though I do live with him.  And he feeds me.  And pays me.”

She laughed and glanced over, “So, what? Is he like, your pimp or something?”

“What?!” I laughed even harder, “God, no, he's just a friend who's helping me out.”

She shrugged, ridding the laughter from her voice, “Sorry, I had to ask, didn't want to have to end up answering to, what was his name again?”

“Stuart.  And let's just please never mention to him that you thought I was his whore.   He'll never let me live that one down.”

With a nod she fell silent and all I could hear was the crunching gravel under our feet.  Just as I thought the quiet would become awkward, she pointed up over a kebab shop.

“That's me,” she said, fishing a key from her pocket.

“So we’ve got something else in common then,” I said, and she looked over after she'd stuck the key in, “I mean because I live above a pub, and you above a kebab shop.”

“Didn't realize you lived above the pub.  That's convenient.”

She pushed the door open which led to a small dark hall with a set of stairs which looked old and far worse than Stuart’s flat. 

The hollow wood creaked with each step and for a second I thought I'd fall straight through them.  A rather large spider web was draped in the farthest corner, hanging along the high ceiling, and if it weren't for the moonlight shining through the single small window at the top of the stairs, you probably wouldn't notice them at all.  I started to wonder if her flat looked the same as the dingy hall.

“I know it's quite scary in this hall,” she said, reading my thoughts, “but the inside is not at all like this.”

With that she pushed open the door and we stepped inside.

I could smell cinnamon, and she flicked on the lights. We entered in a tiny nook of a hall, which opened to the kitchen.  The countertops were white and so were the cabinets, and though it was rather small, it looked to be just enough for one person.

“If you don't mind taking your shoes off,” she said, kicking off her black flats and revealing bright red polish on her toes.

I agreed without question, and left my shoes beside hers.

“Nice socks.”

Quickly I glanced down, remembering I couldn't find two matching ones and rather than look for two of the same, I just put on a red one and a blue one.

She’d already walked off before I could reply so I just followed her along through the kitchen where she swung open the fridge and pulled out two beers.  She kicked the door closed with her bare foot.

“We can go to the front room,” she said, handing me the can of beer.  I nodded as she picked up her guitar case and gestured to me to follow. 

The front room was off to the right of the kitchen, an awkward setup compared to Stuart’s flat. She flicked on the light and illuminated the room, setting down the guitar and reaching for the TV remote.

Alex grabbed two coasters and set them out on the coffee table, settling herself down on the left side of the blue sofa.  

“Don't be shy,” she smiled, patting the cushion beside her.

The TV came to life and I sat, letting my own guitar down at my feet.

We cracked our beers open at the same time. 

“I like your flat,” I told her, just before taking a sip of beer.  I hoped it would help calm my nerves.

“Thanks.  I actually just moved in a few weeks ago.  It's actually quite cheap.”

“And it doesn't smell of kebabs.”

She laughed at my observation and gestured toward the candle on the table. 

“I light a lot of candles.  Cinnamon cancels out the smell of grease pretty well.”

For a bit we just watched the rerun of Friends that was on, and every now and again she would laugh and I felt it radiate in my chest until I couldn't fight the smile pulling at my own mouth.

“So are you gonna show me what you were working on at the pub?”

She untucked her leg from beneath her and reached for her guitar case by her feet, where she retrieved her little black notebook from inside.

“I don't really have anything written besides one line, it was really the melody I was trying to work out.  In my head.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and I laughed a bit at her innocence.

“How did that work out for you?” I asked, and she raised her eyebrows before flashing me a glance at the near blank page.

“Not so great.”

I slid a little closer so I could see what she had written , and I wasn't sure what it was, but once I saw the words, something clicked inside me.

“If I fall for you, will you fall too,” I read aloud, the string of words flowing easily off my tongue.

“It's not much, but I just really like how that sounds, you know?”

I set my near empty beer on the coffee table and gestured for her to hand me the notebook and pen that she had in her hand. 

While I scribbled the words I could feel her watching me, studying me even.  It was almost as if she was trying to channel what was bottled up inside my mind, and I wasn't sure if I liked the feeling.

“What?” I asked, glancing up with a smirk with the pen still pressed and leaking black ink against the page.

Alex shook her head.

“I sat and stared at that blank page for nearly an hour and you glance at it for ten seconds and come up with all that?”

I hadn't realized how much I’d  written and I looked back down at the mess of words.

“Just sort of came out,” I explained, feeling a little embarrassed.

“You're really talented, and I'm kind of jealous,” she clarified, gesturing for me to hand over the book.

I offered it without question and she read the words aloud.  I was surprised she could make them out because of how fast I'd scribbled them.

“You and I, two of a mind, this love’s one of a kind.  You and I, we’re drifting over the edge.”

She spoke soft and hearing her speak the words that had been buried in my brain seconds before sent a flush over both cheeks. I studied her lips as she carried on reading the short verse I'd penned, our knees almost touching.

“And then you could probably just say what you've written after that, like,” I said, aiming my finger at the ling on the page, just before singing clearly," “ _and I will fall for you_ , and then maybe it could be like, _and if I fall for you, would you fall too_?”

I scratched an itch under my nose, feeling her eyes burning into me. 

“Or I'm sure you could come up with something better.”

She snapped out of her trance and swallowed.

“No, that,” she paused, looking back down at the words, “it's like you put what I was thinking into the exact words.”

All I could do was shrug, and eventually laugh uncomfortably when she couldn't take her eyes off me.  I could feel my heart racing and though I tried to hide it, I knew she could hear my breathing picking up.  Before I could even think of any words to speak I felt her hand slide over my leg and still.  I licked my lips, letting my hand fall over hers, and it was like a jolt of electricity sparking straight through me, all the way down to my feet. 

I could feel her inching closer and I didn’t fight the urge to meet her halfway, and the second my mind began to think about the next step, her mouth was on mine. 

 


	15. Highs and Lows

**_Ed:_ **

 

"I think you should go."

That's what Alex said to me first thing in the morning. I sat up in bed, everything from the night before coming back to me. We'd slept together, and there I was thinking we'd had some sort of connection, but that had gone straight out the window when she suggested I leave. 

"I should've told you, but I have a boyfriend."

I'd just been looking over at her lying there, whilst she fiddled with the loose bit of skin on the side of her thumb. 

"Sorry," was all I could gather, "I'll just go."

I heard her sigh as I pulled the duvet back, noting that beneath the blanket I was still naked. I'd glanced round the floor and found my pants, managing to tug them on whilst I sat on the edge of the mattress. 

"I really like you," her words broke the uncomfortable silence, but I didn't acknowledge them straight away, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

I stood to raise my jeans and button them. 

"It's alright," I said, swiping at an itch under my nose as I bent for my shirt, "I'll just go."

It seemed as easy as that; taking the dreaded walk of shame. Alex stayed in bed under the duvet as I gathered my guitar and left. At first, I'd felt a bit hurt, but as I walked back toward Stuart's flat I'd tried my best to shrug it off. I liked Alex and though I thought she liked me just the same, I realized I should've known better than to jump into something with her as quickly as I had. 

*

Stuart was just finishing up breakfast as I'd walked through the door. He glanced up at me with a smile, rising from the table to clear his plate. 

"Well now look what the cat's dragged in," he said with a smile, "I presume you had a good night?"

I contemplated not giving him an answer, but instead I gave a sigh and a short response. 

"It was alright."

He set his plate down in the sink, quickly realizing that I didn't feel up to talking about it. 

Stanley came round the corner and brushed against my leg, and normally I'd reach down and give him a scratch, but I'd just ignored the cat and set my guitar down. 

"I'm headed to the shops in a bit if you want to join me," Stuart said.

I walked further into the kitchen.

"No, that's alright. I'm just going to have a shower and I'll probably see you at the pub."

Stuart just nodded as I turned toward the bathroom. 

*

It was strange being with someone and it not turning into something bigger. Granted I'd only been with Madison, but it was different. I'd only just met Alex, and as much as I hoped to see Madison again, I kept picturing myself with this new girl.

Stuart had gotten Chris, the cook, to open the pub that Saturday morning. He hadn't felt up to it and over the past few days he'd brought up the idea of selling the pub and looking for something else. He and Libby discussed buying a home outside the city, and while I was happy for them, I knew it was their way of saying I'd overstayed my welcome. 

While he was out I took it upon myself to clean up the flat, since he and Libby had been kind enough to take me in and feed me for the past two months or so. I'd washed and dried the dishes, swept and mopped the floor, made up Stuart's bed and ran the vacuum through the front room. It didn't seem like much, but it was the least I could do. 

Not long after I'd finished wiping down the counters, Stuart returned, a few bags in hand. 

"Holy shit," he said once he'd passed the threshold to the kitchen, "you've tidied up?"

He had a smile stretched over his face while I gave a shrug and snickered, 

"Decided to not spend my time being a lazy twat."

He lifted the bags to the counter, nodding.

"Well good because now I can justify what I've got you."

With that he sifted through the bags and after finding what he was looking for I came forward a bit, unable to hide my interest, or the smirk on my face.

"If you don't like it, or I've bought the wrong sizes we can switch it out," he said, emptying the clothes from the bag. 

I hadn't realized I'd gone so long wearing the same three outfits, in addition to the handful of things he was kind enough to lend me. 

"Stu," I trailed, pulling out a stack of shirts, noticing the bag was nowhere near emptied.

He held up his hand to stop me from talking, "you don't have to thank me, just try it all on and tell me if you like it, yeah?"

I didn't bother saying anything, instead I dropped the clothes and went around the corner, enveloping him into a hug. 

"Alright, alright," he said, going to pull away, "don't get all mushy on me yet."

There weren't any words to say when he reached into another bag and pulled out a rectangular box. A phone. 

"Now you won't need to rely on pay phones when you're out and about."

I held the box in my hand, nearly in disbelief. I couldn't remember the last time I'd received such a generous gift. Even at Christmas I'd be lucky to receive one or two things. Stuart had outdone himself. 

"I don't even know what to say. Thank you, Stuart," I finally managed, and he ruffled my messy overgrown hair. 

"Go try on the clothes, yeah? And I'll get this mobile going for you."

*

After I had some time playing around with my new phone, Stuart and I headed down to the pub. It was nearing dinner time and Chris' shift would be ending soon. Which meant Stu would play cook, and me, everything else.

It was fairly quiet for a Saturday night, until the late-night rush began. I'd just shouted an order of chips to Stuart when my eye caught Alex walking through the door. I sighed and turned in the opposite direction, suddenly feeling a twinge of hurt, although I hadn't thought of her since the morning. 

"Ed," she called once she'd spotted me behind the bar.

I glanced up.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I really am."

"It's alright," I said, feeling my face beginning to flush.

She took it upon herself to sit at the bar, leaning forward on both arms to ease in a little closer to me. 

"Look, my boyfriend has been wanting to see me play and I invited him to come Wednesday night, but I really don't want it to be weird."

I gave a shrug and carried on wiping down the counter. 

"Can I trust you not to say anything?" She asked, staring straight through me. 

For a minute I hesitated. Then again, it would probably be in my best interest as well if I kept my mouth shut.

"Of course, yeah."

Alex gave me a smile and as my hand rested flat on the bar, I felt her fingers cover mine.

"Thanks, Ed. I'll see you next week then?" 

I nodded, forcing myself to smile a bit. I didn't know why she decided to come back to the pub just to tell me that. Surely she would see that I would figure it out when she walked in with him. I told myself that maybe she had deeper feelings for me than she had admitted, but I put the thought out of my mind, continuing to refill drinks when she went back to her friend.

For the rest of our shift it was slower than usual, but I wasn't one to complain. Alex had gone not long after our short chat, and I couldn't help but wonder if she'd told her friend what had happened the night before. Maybe she didn't care that much after all.

*

Later that night, I couldn't sleep. Each time I closed my eyes I thought of Alex, and then of Madison. It was an endless charade of the mistakes I'd made, replaying over and over in my mind. I needed something to quiet my brain, just for a bit. Without a thought I quietly went to the kitchen, searching for anything to numb my thoughts.

I'd come up empty, so I wandered back to the sofa and closed my eyes with a heavy sigh.

_"I can't, Ed."_

_She was smiling at me behind the window, crouched and whispering through the small crack._

__

__

_"It'll only be for a bit, they won't even know you're gone."_

__

__

_She let out a sigh and glanced over her shoulder, probably checking the time on her alarm._

__

__

_"One hour, and I swear to you," she aimed her finger at me, trying to hide the smirk on her face, "if I'm caught, I'm blaming you."_

__

__

_I accepted her threat with a slight shrug, "well come on then."_

__

__

_Madison lived near a playground and we'd walked close with our hands clasped tight at two in the morning, only the street lamps lighting the way._

__

__

_"Why do you pick the strangest hours to spend time with me?" she asked, just as we'd walked through the gate of the playground._

__

__

_I shrugged._

__

__

_"I just wanted to see your face."_

__

__

_It didn't seem as if she believed me, but even so she released my hand and set herself down on one of the swings. She may have known the real reason, as she grew accustomed to my late-night wake ups. Before her, there wasn't anyone else who I felt comfortable confiding in, and she'd listen and often help me look on the bright side of an otherwise grim situation. But she hadn't said anything else, instead she pushed off the ground and carried on swinging, smiling up at the night sky._

__

__

_"Are you just going to stand there and watch me? Or are you going to join me?"_

I pressed the heel of my hands into my eyes, wishing away the memory. I checked the time again, sighing at the sight of the clock. 3:04. Without another thought, I stood from the couch and quietly headed for the kitchen again, spotting Stuart's keys hanging on a hook. It was risky, and I worried about being caught, but I knew Stuart and Libby both slept like stones. Carefully I took the keys and headed for the main door, holding my finger up to my mouth to quiet Stanley, who'd tried to follow me out. The cat sat with his tail wrapped round his body, looking up as if to scold me just before I sealed the door shut behind me.

Stuart kept the bottles locked up behind the bar, but I knew the key to use and the code to quiet the alarm. Once inside the dark bar I went to the counter and grabbed the nearest bottle of booze; Fireball. I almost smiled since I knew I wouldn't have to drink much to get pissed.

I'd taken the first sip, choking back the burn trailing down my throat. It settled heavy in my stomach and I kept the bottle tight in my hand as I slumped down behind the bar, sat in the dark. 

I'd nearly drained the small bottle, feeling my head spin. 

"Fucking bullshit," I slurred out loud, to nobody but myself, "no one fucking cares, why fucking bother?"

*

"Stuart, did you hear that?"

I woke abruptly to Libby's hand on my shoulder. I peeled open my eyes, squinting once she flicked on her bedside light.

She nudged my arm again, and I responded with a raspy groan against the pillow.

"Hear what? I don't hear a thing except the bloody cat."

Stanley had a habit of yowling at ungodly hours of the night, but he hadn't done it in the past few weeks Ed had been staying at the flat. 

"It sounds like someone's downstairs."

I'd perked up at that, leaning up to listen. After a few seconds of us both straining our ears, we both heard a bang and the sound of someone shouting. 

I threw back the blankets and told Libby to stay put.

"Let's just ring the police, don't be stupid, Stuart."

I shrugged off her suggestion, trotting toward the bedroom door. Surely Ed had heard the commotion as he was closer to the main door than us. As I left the room I wondered why the alarm hadn't sounded at the pub.

"Ed, do you hear that, mate?" I asked, turning the corner toward the front room. 

When I received no reply, I called his name again, taken aback once I saw the vacant sofa, and Stanley sat beside the front door.

Libby had followed me to the front room, but I waved her back.

"I got it," I told her, "go on back to bed, love."

With that I left the flat, sighing on my way down the steps.

*

"Stupid," I spat, slamming the bottle of Fireball against the ground with a loud clank, "fuck sake."

I was too drunk to notice Stuart standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Once he flicked on the light above me I looked to him and saw double.

"Stuuu," I cooed, completely unaware of my own state.

Libby stood behind him, each of them in their pajamas. He didn't look much too pleased with me at the moment, but I was far too gone to notice, or even care.

"Ed, come on lad, you've had enough," Stuart said, slowly making his way toward me sat on the floor.

I swatted his hand away when he tried to take the bottle from me, although it was only a few sips away from being empty. He tried again, but that time I spat an insult and a curse in the same sentence, sending him two steps back.

It was then I noticed Libby coming forward, and she placed a hand on Stuart's arm as if to tell him she could somehow handle me in my state. But I wasn't having it, not one bit.

"Oh fuck off," I slurred, trying to send her off.

She was far more persistent than Stuart. Before I could protest or spew anything else at her, she sat beside me. It was quiet for a few minutes, neither of us saying a single word, and I was sure they could both hear my labored breathing.

"It's alright, Ed," she said softly, "we're not upset, but I'd really like it if you let me have that bottle."

I wagged my head left and right, swaying as I tried to sit up a bit straighter.

"Well, if you aren't going to give it to me then I'm going to sit here with you until you've finished."

And that's exactly what she did. She sat quietly, looking up to Stuart every now and then. He just shook his head and sighed, probably unsure of how Libby had such patience for my absurdity. I didn't finish the bottle or even take another sip. I just sat there beside Libby, feeling my eyes growing heavy and the grip I'd had on the bottle loosen.

"Come on, then," she spoke, jolting me awake since I'd started nodding off, "let's go on to bed, yeah?"

She went again to take the bottle, and though I'd fought it at first, I let her take it. Stuart came forward and took it from her, emptying the rest before tossing the bottle.

Without realizing it, I felt my throat begin to burn and the familiar sting of tears prick my eyes. Libby looked up to Stuart just before I hid my face in my hands.

Right there, sat beside Libby, I cried. My shoulders shook as I let the tears fall, feeling far worse off than I would have if I'd not had a drink at all. It wasn't long before I could feel her warm hands on my wrists. Slowly, she peeled my hands from my face. 

"Hush now, love," she said, and without another thought I leaned forward into her arms, letting her embrace me whilst I cried against her shoulder.

She held me like that for a bit, until my throat hurt and my eyes were sore. Although I was drunk, I knew Libby was someone else I could confide in. She'd always been kind to me and sometimes I felt I took her generosity for granted.

"Come on, love," she said, trying her hardest to get me up off the floor and up to bed. 

Finally, I obeyed, letting her stand. She held my hand, and Stuart hurried over to help, the two of them each lifting me up off the floor. I stumbled but Stuart was fast enough to steady me. With Libby's hand on my back and Stuart supporting my arm, we trudged up the stairs.

Libby tucked me into the sofa, gently brushing a long strand of hair off my face. Seconds later, everything faded, and I finally fell into a deep sleep.

*

The next morning, I woke up to the clashing of pans and closing cabinet doors, and before I could register the reasoning behind it, the scent of bacon filled my nose. It made my stomach turn. I felt a steady throb behind my eyes once I peeled them open.

I hardly remembered anything from a few hours before, but I had a gut feeling I'd done something stupid. Again.

"Ed, are you awake?"

I stirred when I heard her voice, leaning my head against the pillow to attempt to glance behind me. Libby hadn't waited for an answer before she came forward and asked to sit. Reluctantly I sat up and pushed against the arm of the sofa, still with the blankets over me.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," she began, and it was somewhat obvious she'd already known the answer.

I picked at the side of my already torn thumb, keeping my head down.

I could feel the tension in the air in the closed space between us, and I tensed my body, waiting for her to shout at me. As she went to speak again I flinched the smallest bit, unsure if she'd seen. Though deep down I knew them well, over time I had grown accustomed to something much different than the quiet of her tone, and it threw me off a bit.

"If you feel like talking about it, we can, and if not that's alright too, but I just wanted you to know that we're not upset with you."

At that I glanced up her, "What about Stuart?"

She shrugged, "He'll get over it."

We both looked over our shoulders toward the kitchen when we heard the water run, followed by an angry hiss from a hot pan, and then Stuart curse.

"You'd think he'd be better at that since he cooks at the pub."

I smiled at her realization and before I could brace myself, she brought her hand up and rested it over mine.

"Are you alright?"

She wanted me to open up, and maybe because I hadn't had a proper conversation with just Libby since I'd been there. I figured after last night I owed it to her to explain myself.

"I don't know, to be honest," I trailed, and she slowly pulled her hand away, eager to listen. "I miss my mum and Madison, and I'm afraid that if ever see her again she won't want anything to do with me after what I did."

Libby knew I'd gone home with Alex two nights before, so it wasn't a secret.

"Well what about this new girl?"

"She told me she has a boyfriend."

She sighed and just said she was sorry, but I didn't want her sympathy. Sometimes I needed someone to be blunt with me and not sugar coat things, and this time was one of them.

"It wouldn't have worked out anyway, she was too good for me."

Libby shook her head, "You can't say that, and maybe you are too good for her. She's clearly got commitment issues, since she went and cheated on her boyfriend with someone she'd only met once."

I smiled, "Twice, actually. I'd met her twice."

She rolled her eyes, "whatever."

Shortly after our chat, Stuart called us from the kitchen for breakfast, but I had the opposite of an appetite. Even so, I trotted into the kitchen quietly out of respect.

"Ahh, he lives," Stuart said once I sat. I felt uncomfortable sat at the table under his glare, even if he didn't seem angry, I felt it.

"Sorry, Stuart." I blurted, keeping my head down, my stomach heavy and twisting at the smell permeating off the table.

"S'alright mate," he said, filling each of our plates.

Being the second time I'd face any sort of confrontation with Stuart, I should've known that he would turn his cheek and not be angry, but it was so foreign to me. If I'd been home there would've not been an ounce of sympathy given by my father, nor would he have said what Stuart had.

"Go on, then." Stuart said, gesturing for me to stand, "come join us when you're ready, yeah?"

I silently thanked him and excused myself to the bathroom, finally able to rid my stomach of the liter of booze I'd downed hours before.

*

I showered and gotten myself dressed and whilst I did I thought of ringing my mum. Libby had reminded me of her and I couldn't get her face from my mind. 

I gave a heavy sigh before I picked up my new phone to dial my home number, worried of who would answer, if anyone.

But she did.

"I was hoping it would be you, love," she said once we greeted each other. It'd been a while.

I sat on the sofa while we caught up but it wasn't long before her tone changed.

"There's something I need to tell you Edward," she said with a sigh, and a slight crack in her voice. "I've put it off, but you need to know."

Worry filled my chest, and I adjusted the phone against my ear.

"What is it mum? Are you alright?"

She was quiet for a pause, before she took in a shaky breath.

"It's your father, he's in the hospital."


End file.
